Night Train
by Roadrunnerz
Summary: Cal and Gillian run into each other unexpectedly, on a train across Canada in the middle of winter. A train where some passengers are not who they appear to be and others are suddenly coming down with a deadly virus.
1. Chapter 1

My first Lie to Me fic, so please be gentle as I test the waters!

This story takes place two years after the series finale.

Standard fanfic disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters. If I did they'd still be on screen.

Feedback, whether good or bad is always valued.

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><p><strong>Night Train <strong>

_Toronto, Canada_

_Winter _

"No bloody way..."

"All flights are now grounded. You'll need to check back tomorrow."

Dr. Cal Lightman gestured to the floor-to-ceiling airport window where the snow was falling more sparsely now. "The snow is letting up! Look at it!"

"I'm sorry..." the young blonde reiterated.

"I sat in this lounge for four-hours waiting for the delayed sign after my flight to change to a departure time, not to a big, fat, red "cancelled"!"

"I'm really sorry."

Lightman leaned on the counter, inching towards her. "No you're not."

Her eyes widened in genuine confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're fed-up, tired and annoyed and you just want this day to be over." He leaned in even closer. "Oh, and I see contempt too. For myself and the two dozen or irritated passengers standing in line behind me. But there's definitely no sympathy and even less empathy."

Her cheeks blushed. Now he saw embarrassment too. Not that he needed to be one of the planet's foremost experts in facial expressions and lie detection to deduct _that _one.

"Mind you," he conceded. "If I were in your shoes I'd probably feel the same way. So I don't even blame you. But I would appreciate the truth."

"They...they didn't tell me four hours ago whether the flights would be cancelled."

He eyed her face. Full-lips and wide-blue eyes. The only thing that made her less attractive than she should have been was an overabundance of make-up. It was a face for looking, not touching.

"Now_ that_," he paused. "Is the truth."

Then again what the hell did the truth matter? It wouldn't get him on a flight out of Toronto tonight.

He scratched his two-day beard and asked her a final question. You needed thick skin when you could read people as well as he did. When in moments like this, you knew that the woman in front of you wanted nothing more than for him to get out of her pretty face. "Tell me the truth about something else...what are the chances of me getting another flight tomorrow?"

Her lips pursed for just an instant and he caught a shifting in the size of her pupils.

"The weather forecast for tomorrow is calling for..."

He didn't need to hear the rest of her answer.

Slim. His chances were slim.

_Later _

He sat inside a bus now. A large, packed highway coach with the words _Airport Express_ written in yellow letters on its side. Snow covered a part of his window, obstructing his view of the multi-lane traffic outside which was moving at a snail's pace.

He'd miss the book signing in Winnipeg tomorrow morning. Not that he really minded. He enjoyed those as much as a trip to the dentist and it was a minor financial loss. It was the lecture the next day at the APA conference that he couldn't afford to miss. That one was going to bring in a sizeable pay check.

"Nothin's running on time tonight..." Lightman heard someone behind him say. There was a hint of glee and excitement in his voice. Like the kid who was hoping the weather might lead to a snow day.

"Except for the trains," another one cut in. "My brother's going to Montreal tonight and he just texted me to say it's leaving. On time. Can you believe it?"

"Is there a train to Winnipeg?" Lightman mumbled to no one.

He pulled out his lap tap and decided to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi the bus service advertised on his ticket.

An instant message bubble popped onto his screen almost as soon as he was online. It curled his lips into a smile for the first time tonight.

-Where r u Dad?

-Stuck in Toronto. Snow storm.

-In Canada. In the winter. Imagine that.

His smile broadened. He had a sarcastic kid and knew his genes were entirely to blame.

-Remember who's paying for your fancy education in sunny California

-Love u Dad. Where r u trying to get 2?

He cringed. Texting was the downfall of the English language.

-Winnipeg. APA Conference

-Lemme know when u get there. Have 2 go. Hot date 2nite

He cringed even deeper. Emily did that on purpose. She liked to get a rise out of him. Psychology 101. Maybe he should have sent her to that conference.

Even worse, he was like Pavlov's dog when it came to her efforts. They always worked because the irrational father in him still hoped she'd suddenly decide to forego men until she turned thirty-five.

-I hate him and he's not good enough for you

Two could play this game.

-LOL Bye dad. Luv u.

Lightman sighed as the pop-up bubble disappeared from his screen and along with it his one genuine bond with another human being. 'Love you too...'

The bus was going even slower now. Inching along the congested highway.

He went on a search engine to find train time-tables out of Toronto.

"Well, look at that..."

There _was_ a train to Winnipeg. Leaving tonight still.

He clicked on the availability and ticket prices until he noticed the arrival time.

"Bloody hell..."

If it left on time, the train would depart Toronto at 10pm tonight and arrive in Winnipeg not tomorrow, but the _day after _at 8am.

But his lecture wasn't until the day after tomorrow. At 1pm.

And it meant he'd be moving instead of waiting, while risking the chance of not going anywhere.

"Plus, it's not as though I've got a one good reason to stay in Toronto..."

Before he gave himself the chance to change his mind, he went through the process of purchasing a ticket for the night train. To Winnipeg.

_Union Station, Toronto_

The airport bus dropped him off right across from the train station, at an enormous turn-of the century hotel. The kind that that had a hand-painted ceiling and photos of the Royal Family in the lobby.

That's where he settled into a deep, plush chair in a lounge called the Library Bar and had two stiff drinks, one right after another, served to him with quiet efficiency by a waiter wearing a bow tie.

He felt better and warmer by the time he clumsily wheeled his carry-on case across the street to the train station. Even the fact that the slush on the streets were no match for his leather shoes didn't bother him anymore.

Cal wiped a few fresh flakes of snow off his forehead when he entered the station. According to the giant departures screen in the middle of the grand hall, his train was leaving on time.

"Take that Air Canada," he mumbled.

He took an escalator onto a nearly empty platform and let a porter help him hoist his one piece of luggage into the train. "Your seat is in car three," a smiling attendant greeted him.

Cal walked down a corridor full of sleeping cabins and suddenly regretted not paying extra for one. All he had was a seat.

'What the hell was I thinking?'

Maybe if one of them was unoccupied he'd sweet-talk the smiling attendant into letting him use it.

In the meantime, he flung his suitcase onto a luggage rack at the rear of the car where his seat was.

The compartment was only half full and given that it was less than twenty-minutes before departure time, Cal figured that was as full as it was going to get.

Most of the travelers he saw at first glance were young. Everything about them screamed "up-for-an-adventure-and-on-a-budget." Who else travelled across Canada in the middle of winter and didn't book a sleeping berth? Most of them had back-packs and wore thick wool sweaters and jeans.

He was the only fool in a suit and tie.

Aside from the young Europeans on their North American adventure, he spotted a couple of Native families too. As well as a guy in his sixties, wearing a bandana and holding a guitar on his lap. Then there was a woman, probably in her mid-thirties, who looked sickly and was hunched over in her seat, eyes half closed already.

Cal ignored the seat number on his ticket and sat down on the first pair of unoccupied seats he found. Furthest away from the kids and the guitar player. With a little luck, no one else would sit down next to him. Two seats would make do for a bed.

He fidgeted in those two seats until the train started moving, ignoring the stares of a young couple two seats down.

Cal exhaled. The two seats were his and he was spared having to make small-talk with a stranger and pretending not to see right through their white lies.

A voice on the intercom welcomed them aboard. Letting them that the next stop was seven hours from now in Sudbury, which was barely halfway through the province. Coming from a country where pretty much everything was within a few hours drive, the sheer scope of the distances on this continent still baffled him sometimes. The announcer's voice repeated everything in French and then let them know the dining car would be open for two next two hours.

'Good idea.'

He hadn't eaten since lunch and figured he'd nurse another drink in said dining car until it closed and they made him return to his seat.

The train quickly picked up speed once it left the station and Cal felt like a fish out of water as he stumbled down the corridor to the dining car. Or maybe it was the after-effects of the two drinks he'd had in the hotel lounge earlier.

He sat down at the first table he spotted and when he saw who was seated at the table diagonally across from him, he almost did a double-take.

"_Foster_?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Aboard The Canadian _

_"Cal?" _

Her face, though he might not have seen it for almost two years now, was as familiar to him as Emily's and his own. Gauging from her expression, her shock was as big as his. Bigger probably because she tipped the glass of wine she was holding and half of it landed in her lap.

"Oh blimey..." he moved over and helped her wipe her lap with a cloth napkin he swiped off the table.

"It's okay..." She dabbed at it some more, even though she knew it was a futile effort. The growing stain would win. But she clearly needed a moment before she was ready to turn her head in his direction and meet his eyes. "Cal...what the..._what are you doing here_?"

He smiled. "Do you mind if I have a seat? Or are you waiting for someone? New boyfriend? Husband?

Her blue eyes met his incredulously. "No."

"No you don't mind if I have a seat, or no you aren't waiting for someone?"

Her expression softened. Cal knew he had that effect on her. It was one of his favourite qualities.

"Neither."

That too felt like the old days. He rambled. Endlessly. His words tumbled out as quickly as the thoughts that raced through his mind, while hers were always concise and carefully thought out. Sometimes she'd pause a long moment and look into his eyes, or into space, before saying what she wanted to. They were a stark contrast that way. She, who was mindful to a fault, and he, who was clearly incapable of thinking before speaking.

The smile was still on his face as he sat down across from her. Such was the effect she had on him. Even after all this time. Even though their last words to each other had been angry ones.

Even though he still wasn't sure whether he'd forgiven her for...

Gillian. Of all the people to run into on the night train to Winnipeg. _What were the chances?_

"Can I get you some menus?" an approaching waiter asked them both.

"Menus are good," Cal told him. Then he turned to Gillian. "I'm starving. You're going to eat something too?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He managed to bite his tongue until the waiter brought them a new bottle of wine and poured her a glass. She looked like she could use it. He took a long sip of his too, before deciding on the steak.

"What are you doing here, Cal?" she asked him once more.

No small talk. He liked that. Besides, they'd been through too much together for that kind of pretence.

"I was supposed to fly out to Winnipeg today. But the weather cancelled the flights."

"Winnipeg?"

"APA conference. I assume that's where you're headed?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm going to Vancouver."

"By train? In the winter?"

Gillian shrugged her shoulders. "Why not?"

She knew that evasion was easier than trying to sell him a lie so Cal let her take that route.

She took another sip of wine and he saw a hint of colour return to her cheeks. The waiter came by again and they both ordered their meals. "Are you doing a lecture on your latest book?" she asked. "I read it. It's great."

Of course she would have read it. She'd always had questionable taste in literature.

"Liar."

Gillian was a far better liar than he used to give her credit for. But she was still awful when it came to the little ones. The white lies. Or maybe he was just far too good at spotting them. Not that reading Gillian Foster had ever been one of his strengths.

"The book is crap," he told her. Every time he gave that wretched book a moment's thought it made him want to kick something. It_ was_ bad because he'd written it for all the wrong reasons. For all the dollar signs they dangled in front of him.

He wrote it because he needed the money. And _that_ was a lousy reason to write a book.

"It's not crap," she countered. "There was a part about the mixed use of past tense during suspect interrogation it... came in handy in my last case."

"You're the language expert, luv," he chided her. "Not likely you would've needed advice from a book of mine on that one."

Defeat, amusement and irritation. He saw traces of all of them on her face now.

"Okay." She raised her glass in a toast. "To your crap book, then."

That made him smile and he clinked his glass with hers. It felt good to have her sitting across from him. "To my crap book."

"Then again, how bad can it be if it's on the conference lecture circuit?"

"It's the name on the cover, not the content."

"But you're promoting it..." she pressed.

His lips tightened. He wished she'd talk about something else. Everything about the book left a bad taste in his mouth.

He wrote it to try and win back the company he'd poured his heart and soul into.

But he'd failed.

And suddenly his mind went back to those last few months.

First there was the recession. The companies, both public and private, that stopped using their services under the guise of cut-backs. Then there was that slimy lawyer he'd once antagonized during one of his ex-wife's cases. The lawyer with the vengeful streak, who had more powerful friends than Cal would ever have imagined possible and who somehow managed to blacklist the Lightman Group in a growing list of legal firms.

Then came the lay-offs and the relocation to a smaller, suburban office.

That had been Foster's idea, against his better judgement. A last ditch effort to save the company and ride it through the recession. At that point the Lightman Group should've been called the Lightman Quartet. There were only four of them left.

Gillian, Ria Torres and Eli Loker.

Some days the tension between them could be cut with a knife. It brought out the worst in all of them. Gillian nagged him endlessly and sometimes he lashed back at her like a child. Eli's constant need for approval grated on him more than ever and he treated him with far more contempt than he deserved. And sometimes he'd snap at Ria just for having the gall to step outside for a coffee.

It was a wonder really. That they stuck around at all.

Gillian told him as much one afternoon.

_"Torres got a job offer." _

_The news had taken him by surprise. Funny. He who could spot someone keeping something from him a mile away. _

_"How do you know?" _

_"She told me." _

_Of course Torres would have gone to Gill, not him. She was the member of the partnership who wouldn't bite off their heads if they did. He had tried to contain his bitterness, without much success. _

_"Why? She wanted your blessing?" _

_"No. Yours." _

_"Ria Torres is where she is today because I recognized her abilities and saved her from a mind-numbing minimum wage job at the airport!" _

_"So she owes you a life's worth of loyalty in return?" _

_"Not a life's. But maybe one recession's worth." _

_"If we don't get a six-figure pay check in the next two-weeks, the Lightman Group is going under. You know that. Much as you like to pretend you don't. This is her chance. She's young and she deserves it. But she won't take it without your okay..."_

_"She wants to jump from a sinking ship. Like a rat." _

_"Oh, please. Get over your need for loyalty for a moment and pretend that Emily were in Ria's shoes...and that she had an egomaniac standing in the way of a brilliant future career..." _

_"Ria is a natural," he'd pointed out. "She's one of the best resources this company's got left. If I let her go than we might as well fold everything up today." _

_"Right. Because the two of us were so useless before she came along." _

He didn't remember much of the rest of their conversation. Although at one point a door was slammed and he remembered sitting in his office alone.

It had been a mute point. They did get a case only two days later. A _huge _case. Pro-bono, six-figures if they came through. A car making giant vs. seven employees claiming an illness caused by their workplace, that no medical facility could diagnose or substantiate. Doctors weren't even able to come up with a blanket diagnosis of some sort of immunosuppressive illness.

They were lying to get compensation for something that was clearly made up. The only thing standing in their way was an eccentric old doctor who believed them. In short, both the auto firm and its insurance company needed a way out and all the Lightman Group needed to do was prove that either the doctor or his seven patients were lying.

At first it seemed easy enough. The seven patients in question were an easy group to pigeon hole. All of them had been written up at their factory jobs. Three of them had prior criminal convictions. One had recently been on parole. And none of them were particularly likeable.

They were professional liars and fakers, looking for a way to stay home and get paid for it. That was the general consensus. Loker even suggested they'd made a pact amongst themselves.

Except when they put each of them through the scrutiny of an interview, they all passed. There was no discernible trace of deception in any of them when they spoke about their illness.

Then suddenly there was an eighth victim from the same factory. Not a line worker this time, but a supervisor who sometimes worked the floors. An intelligent, likeable woman whose husband just so happened to be a toxicologist who'd once worked with the CDC.

Several specialists were brought in and the case crumbled before their eyes.

While the group might have been lying about the severity of their pain, the illness was real. Cal couldn't even remember exactly what it was. Some sort of toxin in their blood that conventional tests had failed to detect. A toxin that could be traced back to one of the machines used on the factory floor. The company paid a huge settlement and the Lightman Group ended up with nothing. Nothing except two weeks of payroll that he could no longer fund.

He wouldn't soon forget Gill's expression when she came to see him in his office that night. All four of them had put everything they had into this case. Dark circles lined her eyes.

_"It's time. We need to file for bankruptcy. Do you want to do it, or should I?" _

_He hadn't answered her. It was a ridiculous question. Of course he didn't want to do it. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. _

_"We need to tell Torres and Loker," she told him. Torres whose opportunity for a plumb position in the FBI had come and gone. _

_"They're not idiots. They know," Cal shot back. _

_Gillian had tightened her lips. She really didn't deserve his contempt after all this. But what else did he have to offer when that's all he felt for himself these days? _

_"Maybe they'd like to hear it from us. Instead of guessing it from the innuendos we leave them in the hallways." _

_"Hallway. Singular," he corrected her. Another jab at her choice of office accommodations. "Fine," he conceded. "Better from you than me. You're the diplomat." _

_"I want to take them out tonight. One last night together. I want to take them out for an amazing dinner, drinks, the works..." _

_He felt his chest constrict. He wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to give up and he wondered why the hell she was. "On whose account exactly?" _

_"There's still a few hundred bucks left on the company card." _

_"If that's what you want. Go for it." _

_"Go for it?" She was exasperated now. "You need to be there too, Cal!" _

_"No thanks." He shook his head. "Sorry...not in the mood to celebrate the demise of my company." _

_"Celebrate?" She'd stood up in anger. There was only one other time he had seen her this livid. "You think I want to celebrate the demise of our company? I know you like to tell me it's your name on the door. That it's your blood, sweat and tears that built it. Half the time you conveniently forget that I'm not your employee but your partner. When the truth is I've invested every bit as much into this company as you have!" _

_"Then why are you willing to give up on it? Why are you suggesting we go out and have a last supper with our only two remaining employees?"_

_"Because I'm not going to delude myself any longer." She calmly straightened her skirt with the palm of her hands. "Loker and Torres deserve a thank you. They deserve more than that really. But they do deserve at least that much..."_

_"I'm not ready to throw in the towel, Gill..." he'd said softly. "I'm asking you not to give up yet. I'll write the book and..."_

_"Ah the infamous unwritten book. It's finally too damn late for it, Cal."_

_"It's not..." _

_"The Lightman Group is finished. Accept it." She'd taken a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. "And if you don't show up tonight it won't be the only thing that's finished." _

At first he hadn't planned on going to the trendy Italian restaurant she'd picked. It would've been an official declaration of defeat.

But then he'd changed his mind. Because he considered that maybe her threat was real. He didn't think it was, but he'd been wrong before and the thought of losing his best friend was even more daunting than the possibility of losing his company.

By the time he got there, the three of them had already finished eating. There were a dozen empty plates on the table and all three of them were visibly inebriated. Especially Eli Loker, whose cheeks were flushed red and who'd stood up to make a speech or raise a toast, or both, Cal couldn't quite tell at first.

_"Last but not least...to Cal Lightman...wherever he's hiding right now. World's only human lie detector! May he be so lucky to find another three suckers that will worship him the way we did. That will put up with his daily contempt, arrogance, oh and verbal abuse, while at the end of the day giving him all the credit...all the time!"_

He thought he saw a chuckle even on Gillian's face.

In vino veritas.

None of them had seen him enter the restaurant.

He left before they did.

"I see that you don't want to talk about the book." Gillian's voice brought him back to the present. To the dining car on the Canadian train rolling through the countryside in the middle of winter. The lights outside were sparse now as they left the suburbs surrounding Toronto and headed into the frozen north.

"You're right," he answered. "I don't. But I do want to know why you disappeared. Why you never answered a single one of my e-mails and phone calls. "


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Aboard The Canadian_

A waiter brought them their meals, steak for him, seafood pasta for her, and offered them pepper from a large wooden mill. They both accepted.

In spite of the late hour, the dining car was nearly full. The travelers here were a different crowd than the ones sitting in Cal's section of the train. For starters, most of them were older. He caught snippets of languages he barely knew. German. Dutch. Japanese. He heard American couples too. Like the one that was arguing as they walked past their table.

The wife held a perfume spray in her hand. "It_ is_ necessary. It smells like fish here."

"It's a dining car," her husband reminded her.

"Exactly, darling. Not a fish market."

The woman squeezed the perfume bottle and Cal smelled a cloyingly sweet odour fill the air.

"Do you mind?" he glared at her. There was something odd about her that he couldn't put a finger on. Maybe if he'd tried harder to read her, he'd have figured it out, but the truth was he didn't care to. The only face he cared to read was the one across from him.

The woman stared at Gillian's pasta as she walked by. "Actually I do mind, yes."

Cal was about to tell her what he thought of her, but she was already two tables past him.

"Poor bugger, stuck in a confined space with her, " he mumbled.

"Maybe..." Gillian twirled her pasta. "They'll be our entertainment the next couple of days."

Cal poured her some more wine and they ate. There was only darkness outside the windows now. Gone were all traces of urban life.

"You didn't answer my question," he finally probed as the waiter took away their plates and left behind a dessert menu.

"Things were tense between all of us after the Lightman Group folded."

"We've always had arguments before, Gill. They never ended up with you cutting off all communication."

"I needed some space after..."

God, she was a lousy liar. "Bullshit. Give me a little more credit than that."

"Maybe," she answered, blushing. Defensive. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to me," he countered. "I left you a dozen messages. Sent you half a dozen e-mails. There was a contract job in London. For both of us. And after all these years, you couldn't even give me the courtesy of a 'no, thanks, Cal, not interested? ' You really expect me to believe that? I might believe it about Loker, who needed therapy just because I didn't give him a daily pat on the back."

"You can be such a jerk..."

"Loker yes," he cut her off. "Maybe even Torres. But _you_?" He paused and forced her to meet his gaze. "Tell me the truth."

"I did get your e-mails and your messages," she admitted. "But by the time I got them it was too late. Your job in London was for February...I didn't see your e-mails until two months later. By then it was too late for a 'thanks but no thanks'."

"You didn't check your phone or your computer for two months?" Guilt assaulted him him. Something had happened. He could see it on her face. Why the hell didn't he persist? Why did he have make it about him and assume that her actions were payback for all the grief he'd caused her those last few months?

"A week after we filed for bankruptcy and dissolved the company, I got a call from Sonia."

"Who?"

"Alec's mother. My ex-mother in law. Apparently Alec had a relapse. She told me it was bad. Heroin was his latest drug of choice."

Of course he did. Selfish, spineless wanker. Cal always thought Gillian deserved better than her ex.

"His mother asked you for help?"

"Not because he was using," Gillian explained. "But because by then he was sick. Really sick. AIDS. He'd had it for over a year. I had no idea."

"Bloody hell." He felt a sudden knot in his stomach. "Are you...?"

"No...I'm fine. I tested negative."

Warm relief flooded his throat. _Thank you._

"How did she want you to help him?"

"He'd gone to India, in search of some radical treatment at a clinic near an ashram. Or so he said. His mother thought it was all a hoax. A cult even. She thought they were milking him for every penny he had left. She wanted him to come back to the States for treatment. To drag him back if need be...but she wasn't well enough to make the trip herself."

"So she asked _you_?"

"There was no else who..." Her voice trailed.

"Gave a damn," he finished for her.

As if it was Gillian's fault that the loser had no other friends. But Cal already knew what her answer would have been.

"I went to India to try and convince him to come back. He refused. By then he'd started using again...and he was in bad shape, Cal. He was dying and I had no job, no family to rush back to...so I thought at least I could make sure Alec didn't die with strangers." Gillian took another sip of wine. "Two months later he passed away."

Cal swallowed. This was the last thing he expected. "I'm sorry, luv."

"The ashram and clinic where Alec was, it was in the middle of nowhere. There was limited internet, even the phone service was spotty."

"Why didn't you call me when you came back to the States?"

"I wanted to," she admitted. "I missed you and Emily."

That was the truth. But it didn't answer his question. Cal didn't press her even though he wanted to. Instead, he thought back to some of the angry messages he left on her phone two years ago.

Messages she would have come home to, telling her he had expected more from her than this. More than this selfish silent treatment she'd given him.

"But then you heard my voicemails and they reminded you of what a plonker I am, god, I'm sorry, Gill." He meant it but it sounded inadequate just then.

"You didn't know. That was my fault."

"I should've known _better_. "

Her hand reached over to his.. "Stop it. I could have called you, and you would've been there. I know that."

_'Then why the hell didn't you?'_

He wanted to know but something told him not to push. He was good at pushing her away. Too good for his liking.

"So what now?"

She shrugged her shoulders and pointed to the menu, her expression unreadable.

"Dessert?"

_Later_

The knock came on her door at exactly two minutes after four in the morning. Gillian knew because the lit numbers of the alarm clock were the first thing she saw with squinting eyes.

"Cal?"

Who else would knock on the door of her sleeping cabin three hours after they'd been kicked out of the dining car for staying too late?

"The fact that you were too cheap to book a sleeping cabin is not my fault..." she mumbled to herself with a yawn, determined to ignore him.

She wanted sleep and he'd give up after a while.

Cal Lightman. Last man on Earth she had expected to see tonight.

Sharing a meal with him brought back a flood of memories. Memories she'd tried to ignore all because she'd felt too guilty to make a single phone call after India.

Cal Lightman. The man who'd been her partner, best friend and confidante for a good part of her life. There was no one else who could challenge her and infuriate her as much as he could.

No one else could hurt her as much.

Or cared for her as much.

'I missed you.'

The knocking on the door continued, louder this time.

"Oh for god's sake, don't make me take that back..."

She grabbed a thick wool sweater and pulled it over her t-shirt, before yanking the door open. "Look there is no space in here for two..." She stopped herself mid-sentence. It wasn't Cal standing outside in the narrow corridor, but a man wearing a VIA rail uniform.

"Ma'am, you're a doctor yes?"

"A what?" She was still waking up, while at the same time realizing she'd had too much wine with dinner.

"A doctor. It says on the passenger manifest that..."

She slowly put two and two together. "Do you have a sick passenger?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "We were wondering if you might..."

"I'm sorry. I'm not a medical doctor. I'm a psychologist."

She didn't need to be Cal Lightman to read the disappointment in the man's face. He didn't look older than twenty.

"Look," she told. "If you can't find a medical doctor, then come back. I'll help in any way I can."

"Thank you," he told her. "I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Gillian shook her head. "It's okay."

The man took his passenger list and continued walking down the corridor.

She yawned and sat down on the bed that needed to be pulled down from the wall in order to sleep on it, and which now covered the cabin's sink and toilet.

Something else suddenly occurred to her. If that man was making his rounds looking for anyone with a _Dr._ in their name, he'd reach Cal too and Cal wouldn't let something minor like a lack of a medical degree stop him from joining the action.

'And if you're going to be there, then we both know you'll need me...'

Gillian smirked as she hastily pushed the bed back up into the wall and splashed her face with cold water from the now accessible sink.

For the first time in a long time, she was eager to find out what the day would bring.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Aboard The Canadian_

Gillian Foster had been right. As usual.

There he was. Cal Lightman, standing in the corridor next to the young man from VIA Rail who'd knocked on her door earlier. Him and another man. One who Gillian assumed _was _a doctor.

"Oh, it's okay," the man from VIA Rail told her when he saw her. This time she caught the name on the nametag he wore. Brandon. "I found a real doctor...not just one but two!" He pointed to Cal and the stranger, suddenly aware of what he'd said. "I'm sorry...that's not what I mean."

Gillian suppressed a smile. "It's okay, Brandon. I know what you mean."

She turned to Cal. "_Two_ doctors, huh?"

Cal returned her look with a grin of his own. "Got lucky, he did. Look at this...now what? We have three do we?" He gave Brandon a pat on the shoulder. "I'm afraid, we're going to need more sick people."

Brandon looked at him, perplexed. "Pardon me?"

"Don't mind him," Gillian told him. There was something about the young man's sincerity that brought out her maternal instincts. Not that it took much to trigger them. Cal always accused her of mothering not just him but Ria and Eli as well.

"Doctor _Lightman_?" The doctor held out his hand.

Cal was taken aback at being recognized.

"Karl Bennett," the doctor said, introducing himself. "I read your books," he explained. "And I've heard of the Lightman Group."

The doctor's posture was perfect, Gillian noticed. Straight like that of a military cadet. But more than that, everything about his appearance suggested discipline. From his neat, short-cropped haircut to the fact that he wore a perfectly pressed shirt, even though it was the middle of the night and the rest of them all looked half-awake.

"You have?"

"Tell me, do you have a medical degree now too, Dr. Lightman?"

Gillian wasn't sure she heard right. It was an unexpectedly accusatory question. In the span of seconds, he went from hinting that he was a fan of Lightman's work to pointing out that he was useless and unneeded here.

The doctor's powers of observation unsettled her.

Cal on the other hand, chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "I've had lots of free time lately."

Karl Bennett smiled. "_That_ much?"

Sensing the chill in the air, Gillian stepped up towards them both and held out her hand.

Cal stepped in before she had a chance to introduce herself. "How rude of me. This is Dr. Foster. My... colleague." He turned to her. "Gillian, this is _medical doctor _Karl Bennett."

Gillian bit back a smirk and shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." His handshake was firm but he loosened his grip from hers almost instantly. Karl caught her reaction and managed a smile. "It's kind of you to come, in the middle of the night, but I think I can handle this." He was holding what looked like a traditional medical bag in his hands.

Gillian raised her brows. Did doctors really still carry those around? "What exactly is wrong with the sick passenger?"

"From what I've seen, I think we have a case of influenza on our hands. They're an elderly couple from Germany. If we can keep them confined to their cabin and away from the others it should lower the risk of spreading the virus. In the meantime, I'll give them something for the fever. That and keep an eye on them."

"He's saying they have the flu," Cal quipped.

"The husband came to me saying his wife had a sudden fever after their dinner." the VIA Rail attendant explained to Cal and Gillian. "Along with a severe headache and joint pains. So we were worried...especially because he's come down with the exact same symptoms."

"Isn't it unusual for it to spread so quickly?" Gillian asked.

"They likely had the virus before boarding the train," Dr. Bennett told her. He turned to Brandon. "I suggest you wipe down the dining car with a sanitizer of sorts if they had dinner there."

"There's nothing to worry about then, right?" Cal asked.

"I hope not." Dr. Bennett said. "Like I said, if we can keep them confined to their cabin we should be fine. Besides, their age makes them more susceptible than the bulk of the other passengers." He pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his medical bag. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to measure the Schroeder's fever before I leave them."

"Sure," Cal agreed. "Good idea. You'll keep us posted, right?"

Cal put an arm around Gillian's shoulders as they walked away, down the corridor. "Crisis averted. How 'bout breakfast in the lower decks with the working class?"

"I didn't know we were on the Titanic."

"Actually, this train is called _The Canadian_. Original, isn't it? I know because I read the glossy VIA brochure that was in the flap next to the barf bag."

"Didn't we just eat dinner?"

"Coffee then?"

He was hard to resist. She'd nearly forgotten just how hard.

Gillian felt a throbbing behind her temple. Definitely too much wine with dinner. Coffee, along with a tall glass of water were a good idea. They wobbled along the corridor as the train rumbled along a rough patch in the track. There was still nothing but darkness when they looked out the window.

She let Cal lead her to the compartment where his seat was.

"That one's all yours," he told her pointing to the window seat. "I snatched myself two seats. Bet that's almost as much space as you have."

"Almost," she agreed.

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee," he told her. "I'll go hunt some down."

"Thanks," she said, yawning, her eyes closing against her will. He was gone before she re-opened them and scanned the compartment. Less than half the seats were occupied. Most of the people in them were fast asleep. Couples lazily draped over each other. A guy with a guitar at his feet. A woman huddled up in her seat.

It was only on second glance that Gillian noticed the woman wasn't asleep. Her eyes were half open and she was shivering underneath one of the VIA Rail blankets.

Gillian spotted an unopened bag with a blanket inside under Cal's seat and grabbed it, walking over to where the woman was sitting.

"Do you want a second one?" she asked.

"Yeah...that'd be nice," the woman answered, her voice hoarse. She didn't look well, Gillian thought. Her skin was pale and she spotted a thin layer of perspiration along her hairline. She also noticed that her eyes were rimmed red, like those of someone who'd been crying for a period of time.

"Are you alright?" Gillian asked her. "Can I get you something to drink? Something warm?"

The woman offered her a weak smile. "No...it's okay. Just want to get home."

"Where's home?"

"Next stop. Sioux Lookout. My father's a doctor on an Indian reservation and my mother's a minister. They'll smother me in TLC when I get back..."

Gillian eyed her, not entirely reassured. "If you change your mind, my name's Gillian." She pointed to Cal's seat. "I'm just over there."

The woman held out her hand. It was hot to touch. "I'm Sarah. I'm alright really. I'm a nurse. I work with Medecins sans Frontieres. Just came back from the Congo. I'm tired and jet lagged. It was a rough time..."

"I can imagine."

"Thanks...for the extra blanket." She told her, giving her a meagre a smile. "I should have asked for one sooner."

"You're welcome."

Gillian went back to Cal's seat, suddenly noticing that he'd watched their exchange while holding two Styrofoam cups in his hands.

"There's the difference between the two of us. I care about the truth. You care about people."

It wasn't true, she thought. He cared too. Too much sometimes. Even if he often liked to pretend he didn't.

"Is that a scientific assessment?"

"Of course."

"The only difference?"

He paused and smiled. "You're also much easier on the eyes."

She took the coffee he handed her and sat down in the window seat. "Thanks."

"It's the truth."

She smiled. "I meant thanks for the coffee."

He fiddled with his lid and for a moment she thought he'd spill it all over himself.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," he said. Their words were half whispered so as not to wake those sleeping around them.

Gillian took a sip of the coffee. It wasn't sweet enough for her liking, but she drank some anyway. She'd hoped that maybe no answer was a hint for him to stop probing. But of course it wasn't.

"You didn't tell me why you never contacted me again after you came back from India," he pressed.

Only a few hours and already he was getting under her skin.

She bit her lip, a gesture she knew he'd analyze the second after she did it. She'd been away from him so long she'd almost forgotten how good he was at what he did. Gillian hoped he'd told the truth when he once confessed how hard it was for him to read her.

"I came back from India exhausted, and then I saw your e-mails and messages. It reminded me that there was a reason we left the Lightman Group barely on speaking terms."

"Oh come on, that was different, Gill. We'd just lost our brainchild. Neither of us handled it well."

"Look, I didn't have it in me to spar with you after India, okay? That's it."

He nodded and looked at her like he didn't believe a word. Gillian didn't care. As long as he stopped asking.

"I'm sorry. Really, I am."

"Stop apologizing. It's over," she chided him. "So are you going to tell me why you're traipsing around North America promoting a book you think is crap?"

He looked annoyed that she insisted on pursuing a topic he didn't care to discuss.

'Now you know how I feel,' she thought. 'Besides, if you want the truth from me, how about a little truth from you?'

"Money," he shot back. Surprisingly, he was giving her what she asked for.

"I want to raise enough to open another firm," he admitted. "It's why I'm going to conferences in Manitoba and doing freelance work for insecure millionaires who want me to interview their wives to see if they're cheating on them. You know, the kind of stuff I used to tell you we were too good for. It's also why I'm wearing this bloody monkey suit and sitting in economy class."

"I see." It was more honesty than she had expected and it made her feel guilty for her own lack of it. She figured she owed him at least something in return. "Truth is, I'm taking this trip because it was a gift from Sonia."

"The ex-mother in law?"

"She bought it for herself. Because this had been a dream trip for her. Go figure. But she wasn't up for a week long train ride and insisted on giving it to me. As a thank you. I didn't have any work this week so..."

"Here you are," he finished for her. "What_ do_ you do for work these days?"

"I do some freelance work. Not enough."

"What'd you think of Doctor Bennett?" he asked casually, switching topics and simultaneously letting her off the hook. Gillian was grateful for it.

"I'm not sure. My first thought was that there was something off about him. Something that doesn't quite fit."

"He reacted to your handshake as if you had the plague."

"Maybe he doesn't like help? Or women."

"He's married."

"You saw a ring? He could be married to a man."

"I saw his _wife_," Cal told her. "You don't remember last night? The couple that walked by our table. The woman spraying the perfume because she said the dining car smelled fishy?"

"_That _was him?"

"You're slacking."

"I didn't know I was on a case."

Cal smiled and for a moment Gillian thought he was testing her.

"It's okay. I know I'm a formidable distraction."

She sighed. "What did _you_ think about him?"

"I think you're right. He didn't want our help. I saw irritation when he met me...irritation that increased two-fold when you came along."

"What I saw was annoyance. He was annoyed that we had the nerve to show up when clearly we were no use. Condescension rather than irritation."

Cal thought about it. "Maybe...but I also saw fear."

"Fear? You think he knows something we don't about the sick couple? That it's worse than he's letting on?"

"Not necessarily. I'm just not convinced they have the flu. Or that our doctor Bennett doesn't know exactly what they have."

"Oh come on..." Gillian wasn't ready to embrace a conspiracy theory just because the doctor they'd spent five minutes with wasn't thrilled about their presence. "Why would he lie about what's really making them ill? Besides, we're no threat to him."

"Sure we are," he disagreed. "We spot liars. That's plenty threatening when you're hiding something."

"Maybe he's just anti-social. He wouldn't be the first doc with a horrible bedside manner."

"I'm just telling you what I saw written all over his face, Gill." Cal insisted, his expression serious as he took a sip of his tea. "We made him uncomfortable. And it's not because he's an anti-social introvert. It's because he knows something and he's terrified we might find out what it is."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Aboard The Canadian _

Cal Lightman reached down underneath the unoccupied seat across from and pulled out a plastic bag with a wool blanket inside.

He yanked it open, unfolded the blanket and covered her with it.

Gillian Foster was fast asleep on the seat next to him, having drifted off sometime during one of his rants against the latest boy Emily was dating. He didn't entirely blame her. It wasn't a riveting topic of conversation. Her head was resting against the rounded, plastic window sill and he marvelled that the steady movement along the tracks didn't wake her.

_"Look, I didn't have it in me to spar with you after India, okay? That's it."_

Liar.

If she'd been_ that_ angry with him then, she wouldn't be here sleeping by his side now, as if he was still her best friend. Especially not considering that she had a perfectly fine cabin to go to where she'd have both peace and comfort away from him.

Truth was, she enjoyed his company as much as he loved hers.

Sure, she'd always been more sensitive than him. Who wasn't, really? But Gillian was no shrinking violet. She could push back and hold her own in any of the many arguments they'd had in the past.

A couple of annoyed phone messages, left behind when he'd felt hurt and defensive, wouldn't have stopped her from picking up the phone and letting him know she needed him. _That_ was the crux of their friendship. When push came to shove and it really mattered, their petty differences flew out the window.

There was another reason she'd avoided him like the plague the last two years and she wasn't telling him.

It gnawed at him and Cal hated it. Few things bothered him more than being unable to get at the truth.

Especially where she was concerned.

Maybe it was Alec's dying wish that she stay away from him. Cal wouldn't put it past the wanker.

Just after five in the morning, the train came to a stop at a place called Sudbury Junction. It wasn't a major stop. Only a lone railway station with one covered building. One of the Native families left his compartment and in spite of the noise their kids made, Gillian didn't even stir in her sleep.

However, the woman she'd given a blanket to earlier was tossing and turning in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, and Cal was starting to wonder whether she too had the flu, like the elderly couple they'd seen earlier.

He could see the first vestiges of sunlight now too, lifting the darkness that had covered the train. The only scenery outside was endless snow-covered forest and countless frozen lakes. He'd been in some isolated spots on the planet. Northern Scotland. Papua New Guinea. Afghanistan. The jungles of Central Africa. But the sheer vastness of this land was humbling. Even to him, who wasn't easily humbled. He'd read somewhere that the entire landmass of Germany could fit into Northern Ontario more than twice, with space to spare.

At the same time, less than a million people lived here, scattered in isolated towns and Indian reservations, many only accessible by plane.

One could get swallowed up in this land, he thought.

Cal gave up trying to sleep and pulled out his laptop, not surprised that there was no Wi-Fi. Technology fell by the wayside when you left civilization behind. Getting in touch with Emily would have to wait until they reached Winnipeg tomorrow morning. Not that she was likely to be up at this ungodly hour.

Cal didn't know when he drifted off but he must have because when he re-opened his eyes the entire compartment was flooded with sunlight.

And he felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

Everything joint in his body ached. His head pounded and his clothes clung to him. Wet and sticky. He was sweating as though he'd slept in a sauna.

"Gill..." he mumbled turning to his side. That too took a monumental effort.

But she was gone.

So was the sick woman in the seat down the aisle.

For a moment he panicked.

He was on a train travelling through the middle of nowhere. With a doctor who was lying. Passengers who were getting inexplicably ill. _People who disappeared._

He stood up and as he did the world spun around him.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this sick.

"Cal?" He heard her voice before he saw her standing across from him. How did she get here out of nowhere?

"Cal, are you alright?" Concern was etched on her face. But so was something else. She knew something he didn't.

"No," he told her. "I feel wretched. Like I've been run over by a bulldozer. Out of nowhere. I fall asleep and wake up feeling like this...how the hell is this possible?"

"Come on, sit down." Gently she led him back into his seat, pressing the palm of her hand against his forehead. "You have a fever...it's hit you too then."

"What do you mean me too?"

"Seventeen more passengers fell ill while you were sleeping."

"_Seventeen?_ That's a bloody epidemic, Gill!"

"I went to my cabin after I woke up, to get changed, and ran into Doctor Bennett. He was tending to one of the sick passengers. He suggested we isolate them to the sleeping cabins to stop it from spreading further."

"The woman who was sitting here...?" he asked.

"Sarah, the nurse. Yeah, she was one of them. They moved her to a sleeper cabin. Luckily, because of the time of the year, there are a lot of empty cabins."

Cal slumped against his seat. Completely exhausted. His skin was on fire and he wanted to crawl out of it. "How are _you_?"

"I'm fine."

He brushed her hand off his shoulder. "Then you should..." Every single word took more effort than it was possible. "Stay away from me."

Gillian frowned. "We had dinner together, slept in seats next to each other...if I get it, I get it. So be it."

He shivered. So hard this time that his teeth chattered. He'd much rather she didn't get it. Not that he wished this on a whole lot of people. But she was definitely near the bottom of that list. Along with Emily.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"Why? You want to go for a stroll?"

She smiled. "That's right. Right to my cabin. I think it's time you join the quarantine list."

"Not your cabin...find an empty one, or one that's already got a sick person in it," he protested. Not that he had the energy for an argument. He needed it to walk on his own after he turned down her offer to drape his arms over her shoulders. He thought that was about as good an idea as a hug right now.

After nudging him into her cabin and making him take of his sweat-drenched clothes, she pulled down the bed.

"I'll grab your suitcase so you can change into a t-shirt."

He nodded, barely hearing her.

When she came back, she brought a bottle of water along with his clothes, and helped him into his t-shirt.

Thanks to his father's rages and a childhood of fist-fights with the neighbourhood bullies, Cal had a good threshold for pain. And thanks to a decade of doctoral research, he was also mostly immune to fatigue. He could work through it most of the time. He'd also gone through several bouts of malaria during his time in Africa and even that had never hit him as hard.

This was different and it scared him. He couldn't ever remember something flooring him as quickly as this.

"Drink," she ordered.

"Could use something stronger," he argued, as she held the bottle of water up to his lips. "You're mothering me, you know."

"You're right," she cut him off. "I should just let you suffer."

He managed a smile. "Kidding."

"I'm going to get something from Doctor Bennett that'll help bring down your fever."

"Either that or kill me." The headache was getting worse. "Why don't you do the deed and put me out of my misery already?"

This time he caught anger on her face and he regretted his words almost soon as he said them. Lousy choice for someone whose ex-husband had died in her arms.

He was so damn thoughtless sometimes and he knew it.

"Not funny. You're not going to die. I swear, Cal. Even if it kills you."

He chuckled as he shivered. "I've missed your logic, Foster."

She wasn't amused. The only thing he in her eyes was fear.

"The German couple we went to see last night. Dr. Bennett told me their fever broke just before I came to see you. They're getting better," she pointed out. For herself more than for him. "I think...whatever this is, it hits hard and fast but it doesn't last."

"Yeah, quick and hard," he whispered. "Gill, if you're helping that doctor, stay alert to everything he says and does, okay?"

"Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about right now than whatever secrets this guy is keeping from us?"

"I think...whatever secrets he's keeping from us have _everything_ to do with this."

"Stop it."

"Would you just trust me on this?"

"Fine." Gillian agreed, mostly to avoid an argument that he clearly had no energy for. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

"Do that and you'll get to the truth. Now...get out of here already, would you, luv? Before I...emit every single germ left in my body and give them all to you."

He couldn't remember much of the next few hours. Gillian came in and made him swallow some pills and drink more water. She helped him out of his t-shirt too and into a new one. A futile effort, because that too was soaked shortly afterwards. As were the bed sheets he was lying on.

He could neither sleep nor stay awake. He felt too miserable and his head hurt too much. Instead, he found himself in a miserable state somewhere in between. An influenza purgatory of sorts.

He saw things that he was certain were real but which some rational remnant of him told him couldn't possibly be. A giant moose outside his window. His dead mother bringing him a cup of English breakfast tea. Emily graduating, dwarfed inside a huge black robe. Gillian fussing over him, wearing an apron and making him eat chicken noodle soup.

He wasn't sure whether he was imagining what happened next either.

All of a sudden, in the middle of nowhere, the train came to a grinding halt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Aboard The Canadian _

Gillian Foster looked at Brandon, the barely-older-than-a-teenager VIA Rail employee. He was standing next to her holding a basket full of used towels. Towels they'd used as cold compresses to bring down the fevers of the sick. A task they'd been doing non-stop the last few hours.

Afterwards, they brought the towels into the kitchen, dumped them in a vat of boiling water and hung them to dry. They were running out and needed to re-use them.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked him. Last she checked with the engineer the nearest station was a ways off. Maybe she'd lost track of time? Had a day already gone by since this all started?

"I don't know," he said, looking just as surprised as her to see the train come to a stop.

"Can you find out?"

Brandon handed her the basket of used towels. "Sure." He was a sweetheart and he'd surprised Gillian with his calm in the face of everything that was going on. Proof that age and maturity didn't always go hand in hand.

Gillian set the basket down on the floor and brushed a strand of hair off her face as she watched him walk down the hallway towards the engineers' car . They were in the minority now, her and Brandon.

Out of the 143 passengers on the train, 120 of them were now ill. Including one of the train's two engineers.

Or so Dr. Bennett's wife, Eleanor, had informed her earlier. She was the one keeping track with a passenger manifest. Conveniently enough, she too was a physician and unaffected by the virus.

_"You didn't mention your wife was a doctor that first night," Gillian had questioned Dr. Bennett. _

_"Why would I?" he'd answered casually. "That first night I didn't feel the need to wake my wife to look at one sick couple."_

He had a point but Gillian knew that Cal would have seen it as further evidence to justify his suspicions. He'd probably have come right out and accused them of making everyone ill, just to gauge their reactions.

The door of one of the sleeper cabins was partly open and Gillian could hear the voices inside. Now that the train was no longer moving, all sounds inside the cars were amplified.

_"...vomiting, rashes, abdominal pain...these symptoms...it's not possible...this is...every indicator of a viral hemorrhagic fever...nothing to do with R1H9... "_

It was Doctor Bennett speaking to his wife.

Gillian inched closer to the door.

_"...getting worse...fever should have broken..."_

She accidentally brushed against the door and her metal watch hit the doorknob with a ping.

The conversation stopped dead.

Gillian cursed under her breath.

"Well..." Eleanor Bennett poked her head out of the cabin and gave Gillian an accusatory glare. "Are you doing what it looks like your doing?'

"I don't know," Gillian answered, weighing her words as she exhaled. Trying to remind herself she was a better liar than most people realized. "What does it look like I'm doing? Pausing to set down the basket of towels because they're heavy?" She met the woman's eyes with an annoyed glance of her own. "If that's what it looks like then yes, I'm doing what it looks like."

"Eleanor?" Dr. Karl Bennett pocked his head out of the cabin and looked at them both. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Eleanor shot back, her hands on her hips as she glared at Gillian. "You tell me what's going on, _Doctor_ Foster, you're the expert at analysing situations aren't you?"

Gillian felt her cheeks flush with anger. "I don't need this. From either of you. This constant...accusation and condescension. There are over a hundred sick people on this train, including my friend who's too sick to lift his head off a pillow right now, and instead of working together to help them, you're fighting me, keeping things from me...like kids in grade school."

The woman didn't move her hands from her slender hips. She was someone used to getting her way. From the time she was about three-years old, Gillian figured.

She also caught the glance between Eleanor and Karl. An acknowledgement that she was right. From him anyway. Then there was another, subtler, glance that she couldn't quite read, making her wish that Cal or Ria were here. Both of them were so much better at reading micro-expressions than she was.

"How_ is_ Sarah Jensen?" Gillian asked, wanting to end this pointless stand-off. It was the young nurse's cabin they were standing outside.

There was another glance between them and Gillian hated that she couldn't quite read that one either.

"Not good," Karl admitted. "Unlike the bulk of our passengers, her symptoms appear to be getting worse."

"Are her symptoms different than the others?"

"Some are similar. The high fever, headache and chills but Sarah has additional ones, vomiting, abdominal pain and body rashes. Symptoms that the majority of the sick passengers don't have."

"The majority...meaning there are some that _do_ have these other symptoms?"

"Two others," Eleanor Bennett told her, as her expression lost some of its hostility. Her husband seemed to have a mellowing effect on her.

"Who?" Gillian asked. The last two times she'd gone to see Cal she hadn't noticed either of the two symptoms in him. The fever and headache yes, but there was no rash. No vomiting.

"The female half of a young Norwegian couple and an older man, in his sixties. A musician from Toronto."

"Any connection between those two and the nurse?" Gillian asked.

"They all sat in car three," Karl told her.

Gillian's heart skipped a beat. That was Cal's compartment.

"And they both tended to Sarah Jensen because it appeared they weren't initially ill."

"I heard you saying that her symptoms are 'not possible'" Gillian added. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

Eleanor Bennett pursed her lips.

She'd pushed a button.

"No, you weren't eavesdropping," Eleanor Bennett mumbled. "Not at all."

Classic deflection.

"Do I need to be to get a straight answer from you?" Gillian shot back. Exasperated.

Karl Bennett ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. He was starting to show the beginnings of fatigue. "Look, Dr. Foster. We know about you and Dr. Lightman and the Lightman Group. Your company used to have a reputation in the medical community for using the pre-text of science to base legal judgements on people. As if reading someone's eyebrows could possibly..."

"It _is_ a science," Gillian cut him off. "Backed by two decades of research."

Eleanor smirked. "There are over-the-counter vitamins that go through more scrutiny and testing than your science."

Karl put a hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "What I'm...what _we're_ trying to say is that the very first night we met your colleague, he gave me the once over. Maybe we're cautious around you two for fear of being accused of poisoning the entire train because of the way we cock our heads during a conversation."

Gillian shook her head in disbelief. It wasn't just deflection, it was taking her words, twisting them and throwing them back at her. She might not have agreed with Cal that they were hiding something but they were making it too easy to see his side.

"Do you think for one moment we'd want something like this to happen?" he added, looking at her with the same incredulity she'd just given him. "We've devoted our entire professional life to healing the sick. Not to mention that this is our vacation!"

"And before you think this is some nefarious plot because neither of us are ill," Eleanor added. "Like most doctors we've both had the flu shot. I assume you have as well."

"Actually. No. I haven't."

Karl shrugged. Unfazed "Then you're just one of the lucky ones, Doctor Foster."

"Oh for god's sake, call me Gillian," she told him, slumping her shoulders in defeat. If they _were_ keeping something from her they'd die before telling her.

"We want to help these people as much as you do, Gillian" Karl added and this time she detected a genuine sincerity in his voice. "Aside from our original assumption that this is a particularly virulent case of influenza we have no idea what exactly this is. The good news is that it seems to have an exceptionally short incubation period and a lifespan that's not much longer."

"But not for everyone..." Gillian reminded them.

For the first time she caught something that resembled doubt, fear even, in Eleanor Bennett's elegant face. "Everyone except those with the additional symptoms. They're the only ones that are...not improving. The only ones who have taken a turn for the worse."

_Later _

Even after she'd done several more rounds through the sleeper cabins, there were still others; older, sicker passengers, who needed her attention more than him. But here she was for the third time. Making sure there were no additional symptoms.

His t-shirt was drenched again and his entire body was still hot to touch. But there were no indications of any rashes. The fact that his fever hadn't broken yet was worrisome enough for her.

A warm hand reached out to touch her cheek. "What are you doing here again, luv? Are you that determined to get this thing?"

For an instant Gillian felt relieved. He was drifting between lucidity and delirium and it felt good to catch him in a moment of lucidity. "Not a chance. My immune system is clearly superior to yours." She made him sit up and held a bottle of water to his lips. "Drink."

"Is everyone getting this kind of attention from you?"

"No. You lucked out."

He sank back onto bed, exhausted just from the act of sitting up. Clearly still in pain. "I did, didn't I?"

He was still holding on to one of her arms, clasping it tightly in his warm hand.

"Do you know what Emily tells me?"

"What does Emily tell you?"

There was a delirious smile on his lips. She was losing him to the fever again.

"She tells me I'm a chicken!" He snorted. "A chicken, Gill! Can you believe it?"

He made the clucking noise of a chicken.

Gillian didn't really have the energy for this, but she humoured him. "Why does she call you a chicken?"

"My Emily, my genius daughter, she says...I'm a chicken because...because I won't tell you. Because I'm too bloody scared of what could happen next..."

"What could happen next?" she prodded, gently.

He laughed. "Well I don't know! That's the thing, Gill. I'm too chicken to find out, she says! That's why I won't tell you, don't you get it?"

She ran a hand over his forehead. "It's okay, Cal. You don't have to worry about what happens next. Just try and sleep. You need it."

"Maybe I do want to find out. Maybe I'm _finally _ready to find out." He smiled at her. A lingering, delirious smile. "I love you, Gill."

All this would be mildly amusing if she wasn't so damn scared for him. "I know...so do as I say and try and sleep."

"No, you don't get it. I _really_ love you."

Gillian managed a smile this time. Where was a recording device when you needed it? "I really love you too but..."

There was a knock on the cabin before she had a chance to say anything else.

"Come in..."

"Gillian. Thank god I found you." It was Dr. Karl Bennett, looking terrified. It was the first real, honest-to-god emotion she'd seen from him. "I need your help...Sarah Jensen... she's hemorrhaging and losing consciousness and Eleanor...she's started showing symptoms!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Aboard The Canadian_

Lightness.

That was the first sensation he felt when he woke up.

Gone was the pain that ran through every bone in his body and that awful feeling of sweating and freezing all at once and of being unable to make sense of half the things he saw and heard.

His mind was clear now and he finally felt as though he might be able to sit up without having his small world spin around him. Even his headache was all but gone.

It felt like his body had tossed off whatever beast had possessed it and he was inexplicably lighter for it.

He was also starving.

Cal Lightman pushed himself off the uncomfortable bed and took in his surroundings. Wrinkled bed sheets, empty bottles of water on the shelf next to him, a small white bottle of aspirin and two discarded black t-shirts at the foot of his bed. Battle remnants.

There were other things too, that reminded him that he was in her cabin. Women's toiletries on one small shelf. A romance novel on another. A bag of candies.

He looked at the alarm clock next to him. Four numbers lit up. _13:17. _Not that there was much point in knowing the time. He'd lost all sense of it by now. He had no idea how long he'd been out for. But surely, they wouldn't have let the train sit here for days? It couldn't have been that long.

Cal stood up and tested his legs, noticing then that the train still wasn't moving. Apparently that was one thing that hadn't been a figment of his feverish imagination.

He felt weak and lightheaded but better. Indescribably better than only a few hours ago.

His small, carry-on suitcase sat in the corner of the cabin and Cal reached into it, pulling out a clean black t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans.

He was dressed by the time the door of the cabin opened and Gillian stumbled in.

"Hey..." he greeted her.

"Cal?" Surprise widened her eyes. "What are you doing up?"

"I decided I was done with napping."

She didn't look like she was in the mood for jokes. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better," he told her. "I also feel like I could eat a horse. Or two."

While he spotted relief on her face, there still wasn't the slightest hint of amusement. Usually his bad jokes elicited at least the hint of a smile. He took a closer look at her and aside from the obvious weariness, he read something else in her face. Something more ominous.

And now that she sat on the edge of the bed, he noticed the stains on her clothing. Stains that he hadn't spotted right away because the blouse she wore was dark. Small, dark, reddish-brown stains that not only dotted her clothing but he also caught a couple on her arms.

"Are you okay?" he asked, serious now. "What's going on out there?"

She paused, her eyes moist as they met his. "We lost Sarah..."

"Who?"

"The nurse who sat in the same car as you." Gillian wiped away a tear with the back of her hand before it had the chance to tumble down her cheek. "We tried everything...but she was haemorrhaging. It was horrible...her body...there was so much blood...it reminded me of..." She stopped mid-sentence, making an effort to compose herself. "How is it possible this thing can do this much damage in such a short time?"

Cal put an arm around her shoulder, as he tried to piece together what she was telling him. "The stains on your clothing, is that what those are...the nurse's blood?"

Gillian nodded, unable to stop another tear from falling. "Yeah..."

Other thoughts entered his mind then too. "Did you wear any protective gear while you were trying to save her life?"

"What?" she looked at him blankly, processing the question.

"Gloves? Masks?"

"Yeah..." she finally answered. "Doctor Bennett, Karl...he had latex gloves and surgical masks. VIA Rail has some in their First Aid kits too. We used those. But there aren't many. It's not as though they stockpile these things for a train ride across Canada."

"So this nurse gets sick and what, twenty-four hours or so later, haemorrhages and dies? I don't get it, Gill. Didn't you say people were recovering from this? That it hits fast and hard but that it's over just as fast? Look at me...I'm much better."

"We don't know," Gillian answered, her voice a barely intelligible mumble. "It seems like there are two different versions of this thing. The only difference is some added symptoms...vomiting, abdominal pain and skin rashes."

"So those that have those symptoms are getting sicker?"

"Yeah..."

"How many have those symptoms?"

"How many have what?"

Cal exhaled. Gillian was a mess. Getting her to focus, after she'd watched someone bleed to death in front of her, was going to take some prodding and he didn't have the heart to push too hard. Even if he desperately wanted to know more facts before heading out to see that doctor again.

"How many have those additional symptoms?" he repeated.

"Two," she told him. "A tourist from Norway and a travelling musician in his sixties. He's not doing very well." She paused and looked him in the eye again. "I'm scared we could lose him too...I don't understand what's taking them so long to get help..."

Cal tried to understand what she was telling him. "So the others, the ones like me. They're _all _getting better?"

"Not all," she told him. "There's some elderly passengers that are still ill. But they don't have any additional symptoms, if anything the severity of their symptoms has lessened."

"So we can probably attribute the longer recovery time to their age then. Tell me, how many passengers had what I had?"

"Lots," she answered.

"Any idea how many?"

"More than three quarters of everyone on the train."

"Bloody hell!" Her answer took him aback. "How is that even possible?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea."

"I assume that's why the train is not moving."

"VIA Rail has contacted the authorities. Health Canada is bringing in a team at the next station. Infectious disease experts."

Cal had a vision of men and woman in bio-hazard suits entering the train. If people hadn't hit the panic button by now, that would do it.

"Good idea," he told her. "But why aren't they parking this train at the next station? Why leave us sitting here in the middle of nowhere?"

"The engineer told us that's where the government instructed them to wait. Apparently we're not that far from the next station, Sioux Lookout. Once the team is assembled and brought up here, that's where they'll board the train. I assume they didn't think it was a good idea for the train to wait there...for all the obvious reasons."

Cal realized what she was saying. If any passengers found out that someone had died of this, there would be panic. They'd do whatever it took to get off the train. Unless, the train was stopped in the middle of nowhere and they had nowhere to go. Aside from the desolation of their holding spot it was also freezing outside. Cal guessed it was the kind of cold that most people on this train weren't the least bit used to.

Cal looked at Gillian. She was staring into space now.

"You should get out of those clothes, luv," he nudged her. Gently. "Take a shower and maybe get some sleep."

"Are you kidding?" She turned to him. "It's too crazy out there. Now that Eleanor is sick too, it's mostly just the three of us taking care of everyone. Karl, Brandon, the VIA attendant, and me. There's some that aren't ill but they're old and scared..."

"Four," he corrected her. "It's going to be four of us now."

"Are you sure you're up for this?" she asked him. "Shouldn't you...take some time to fully recover? The others who are recovering are still quite weak."

"Who's Eleanor?" he asked ignoring her suggestion when he realized he didn't recognize the name.

"The doctor's wife and the only other doctor on the train."

Cal took a moment to digest_ that_ morsel of information. "The doctor's wife is a doctor? _And_ she's sick?"

"Kind of dispels your conspiracy theories, doesn't it?"

"We'll see." He shrugged and then nudged her. "Change out of those disease-laden clothes, would you, luv? For my peace of mind."

She stood up with a sigh. "Trust me, if I was going to get this, I would have it by now."

"How long ago did Eleanor get sick?"

"A few hours ago maybe?"

He gave her a push towards the shower. "I rest my case."

She raised her hands in defeat. "Shower and a change of clothes. You win."

He chuckled and held up a bag of candies. "I don't suppose you have anything else to eat here? Something not in the shape of a gummy bear?"

"There's a muffin-shaped muffin in my purse. You're welcome to it."

"Let me guess, chocolate chip?"

"What else?" A half-hearted smile finally lit up her face. "With sprinkles on top."

Cal cringed. "Of course." How she was able to consume this much sugar and not bounce off walls or weigh three-hundred pounds had always been a mystery to him.

"Cal," she said, turning around, serious again. "I'm really glad you're better."

He nodded. "Me too." It felt good to not be lost to all that was going on around him. Gillian might be better than he was at analysing a situation, but he was better at pushing the buttons that needed to be pushed in order to get at the truth.

Sometimes being an abrasive pain-in-the-ass had its advantages.

He might have been out of it for a good part of the last 24 hours but he was still convinced that Doctor Karl Bennett knew more than he was letting on. Even more so now.


	8. Chapter 8

Huge thanks to GDA for agreeing to be my proof reader! You are the best (and now fully responsible for all typos. LOL). Huge thanks too to those still reading and giving me your thoughts, and just generally making my foray into this fandom an awesome one!

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

_Aboard The Canadian _

Cal Lightman started walking down the corridors of the train.

It was a quiet, unsettling walk. The doors of most of the cabins were closed and the only human activity he'd seen was that of a handful of passengers, who'd opened the doors at the rears of the cars and slipped outside. They didn't go far from the train because there was nowhere to go. Dense pine forest walled in both sides of the train and it was bitingly cold outside.

Cal poked his head out to see a couple of women, young Australians judging from their accents, standing outside smoking. They still looked pale and sick to him. Catching his gaze, they explained that they caught the bug as well but were feeling well enough to get up and walk around.

"We needed a celebration of life cigarette," they told him, shivering in the snow that was seeping through their flimsy footwear.

Lightman laughed. It was ironic.

Not that there was much to laugh about. Fear permeated the train. He saw it even on the few faces that made a genuine effort to hide it.

He made a stop in the empty dining car too and walked right through it, into the kitchen. There were two cooks inside, one of whom was stirring a huge boiling pot of what looked like hand towels. When he told the other one he was starving, the man pointed him to a pot full of meat stew. Cal grabbed a plate and helped himself to a generous portion.

He felt better, even as he was eating. The light-headedness was starting to go away.

After he finished his meal, he continued walking the length of the train and it wasn't until he was close to the engine car that he spotted the short, prickly, brown hair that belonged to the head of Doctor Karl Bennett.

"Doctor Lightman," he called out when he saw him. He looked different than when Cal had first met him. Whatever smugness and arrogance he'd seen a day ago was now replaced by a tired weariness. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Much. Thought I'd stand in for my partner for a bit. Give her a break. "

"Gillian's not sick is she?"

"No," Cal eyed him. "Why? Are you expecting her to be?"

"Not this again..." The doctor shot him a look of disgust. "If I was it's because over three quarters of the passengers on this train are sick. Not because I know something you don't."

Cal smiled. "There _is _something you're not telling me. So even if you won't tell me what it is, at least do us both a favour and spare me the indignation."

Doctor Bennett shook his head. "You're something else, Doctor Lightman."

"I've been called worse."

"Did Gillian tell you what happened with Sarah?"

"Yes," Cal answered grimly. "I assume you haven't told anyone else?"

"No, we haven't. The train's engineer knows. He's communicating everything to Health Canada. The last thing we want is a panic. People are recovering. It's good to have them think everyone is getting better."

"It's a lie." Cal countered. "Everyone isn't getting better and meanwhile is it a good idea to have them get out of their cabins and mingle when there's still something going on that could be fatal?"

"We're advising everyone to stay in their cabins. There's been numerous announcements over the PA. Haven't you heard them?"

Cal shrugged. "Sure. But here I am."

"It's a suggestion, not an order. The passengers aren't prisoners."

"But they're on a train that's been ordered to stop in the middle of nowhere, waiting for permission from the government before it can pull into a station."

"A woman just died," the doctor told him. "They're taking the necessary precautions."

"Foster told me that your wife is sick too."

"Yes. She's in our cabin. Quarantined like the others who have active symptoms."

"Is she going to be alright?"

The doctor tightened his lips. Doubt. That's what he saw this time. "I hope so."

Cal didn't have it in him to ask whether she had the additional symptoms that were the markers of something more sinister than the flu. The vomiting and the rashes.

Not that he needed to ask.

The answer was written all over Karl Bennett's face.

"What are you standing there for, Doctor Lightman?" The doctor threw him a pair of latex gloves and a surgical mask. "If you're well enough to walk around the train, you might as well come and help me."

_Later_

Gillian Foster walked down the empty corridor, hating that neither the shower nor the change of clothes had removed the stench of death and blood from her nostrils. Or the image of the dying woman from her mind.

She didn't look human anymore in those last moments. The hemorrhaging had bloated her body and distorted her pretty face. Thick, red rashes covered her arms and she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling things that were intelligible to both her and Karl.

They'd done what they could to make her comfortable with their meagre resources, but in the end it wasn't much. Wasn't enough. Not for anyone but especially not for someone who'd chosen to spend her life helping the sickest and most destitute humans on the planet.

Sarah Jensen deserved a better end than this to her young life.

It reminded her of her friend Claire. Another woman who'd died in her arms because she couldn't do enough.

But mostly it reminded her of Alec.

He was a skeletal version of himself in his final days. Nothing about him would have suggested he used to play football in college. That he used to look a bit like a jock. Except he was a jock who wore glasses and had a brain to match his looks. Even then, when she was younger and shallower, she thought thatwas the sexiest thing about him.

He'd always been ambitious too. Working endlessly long hours in what was becoming a stellar career in Washington DC. He'd need the occasional boost to keep his insane schedule and she'd seen him take caffeine pills and energy drinks. Gillian didn't make much of it. Even though, she, of all people, should have seen the warning signs, given his history of drug use. But she'd been too pre-occupied with her own career then, having left the Pentagon to try and make her mark in the private sector, together with Cal Lightman, a brilliant scientist whose work she was as passionate about as he was.

When the demands of his career overwhelmed him again more recently, it was at the same time that the Lightman Group was thriving. When they had more cases than they knew what to do with. She'd been too pre-occupied then too, to notice that the pills and the energy drinks had long since been replaced by cocaine. And worst of all, that it was no longer an occasional boost when he was burning the midnight oil but by then it was something he needed the same way she needed a cup of coffee in the morning.

When Alec finally admitted that he had a problem, it wasn't the addiction that scared him the most. It was that others would find out. He was terrified of the consequences it could have for his career. Image had meant the world to him. So at his insistence, she'd kept it from her friends and family. Including Cal, who was convinced that Alec's mysterious behaviour meant he was cheating on her. Cal, who might have been the one person she could have leaned on at a time when her life was coming apart at the seams.

The downward spiral started not long after the little girl they'd adopted was taken from them, just as they'd fallen madly and deeply in love with her. No matter how much she wanted to hold on to them, daughter and husband, they'd both slipped through her fingers.

Alec went to rehab, made the effort, and in turn, she'd stood by him during the highs and lows. That too, was a battle she lost. By then, the drugs had such a hold on him that Gillian felt helpless and powerless.

Felt that if she didn't get away from it all, they might swallow her up too.

In the end, it was so bad that dissolving their marriage had felt like a relief. It made her feel like she could finally breathe again.

Being away from him reminded her that she still had it in her to be happy. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.

But contrary to what she thought, _that_ hadn't been the end.

The real end was in a dusty town in India. It was AIDS and heroin and the bitter shadow of the man she once loved, wasting away in an understaffed clinic thousands of miles from home. Initially, he'd stayed at a beautiful clinic that looked more like a resort than a hospital. But that was two months ago. Before his funds ran out.

By the time she arrived there he was in a rural hospital. Getting minimal palliative care and going through withdrawal in a hot room with a ceiling fan that he shared with half a dozen other patients. Refusing to make the trip back home no matter how much she pleaded. He didn't want anyone he knew to see him like this, he told her.

_"Why don't you admit it? You're only here because my mother begged you," he'd accused her one afternoon. _

_"I'm here because you need someone to make you see some sense. And to make sure you have clean bed sheets." If it hadn't been for her bringing him clean supplies, he'd be lying on a bare mattress, like so many of the other patients. _

_"You're here with me, but your thoughts are with him. As usual." _

_She'd looked at him, not understanding. _

_"When I'm gone, and that won't be long...but when I'm gone, he's the first person you're going to run to. The first person whose shoulders you're going to cry on."_

_She knew then who he meant. Probably knew the first time too, even though she told herself she didn't. _

_He'd laughed then. A hollow laugh that stretched the already distended skin on his pale, thin face. "It's hard to compete with someone who can read your wife's thoughts with one glance at her beautiful face." _

_"It's hard to compete with the highs of a white Colombian powder too," she'd shot back. His bitterness had infected her._

_"That's not very kind of you," he'd chastised her. "Isn't addiction an illness? It's what every good psychologist preaches these days. But it's easier to be compassionate with a paying patient than with your own husband, isn't it? When it came to your husband, you just wanted him to man up."_

His accusations had touched a nerve. Because of all the truth they held.

Alec was weak.

Instead of dealing with his problems he drowned them in chemicals. He couldn't even bear to see her cry after they lost Sophie. Couldn't talk about it or comfort her, no matter how much she needed it.

Cal was the one who didn't run in the other direction when she couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He was the one who didn't hesitate to spend an hour on a chilly terrace with her after work, staring at the Washington skyline without saying a word.

Cal wasn't afraid of pain or silence.

Alec was right. She wanted him to be strong and hated that he didn't have it in him. Hated herself for so badly wanting him to be something that she knew he never would be.

_"I know you think I chose cocaine over you, but did you ever think that maybe you betrayed me first?" _

_"Excuse me?" This time she truly had no idea what he was getting at. _

_"Oh, I don't think you slept with him, don't get me wrong, Gillian. Even I think your moral high ground is too lofty for that. But sex isn't the only way to betray your partner."_

_"Last time I checked I married you, not Cal." _

_"You married me before you met him." _

_"Maybe you're right..." she conceded. There was only so much anger you could stomach when you sat in an unbearably hot room surrounded by pain and suffering. "Maybe I shouldn't be here. The last thing I want to do is make your last days more miserable by being forced to spend them with someone you clearly can't stand..." _

_He'd smiled again. A sad smile this time. "I'm not the one who stopped loving you." _

_She'd bitten her lip not having an answer for him. _

_"You know what's funny, Gillian?" _

_He rarely called her Gill, the way Cal did. It was always Gillian. Alec once told her it sounded more refined. Less country. Image was important, after all. _

_"What?" Nothing much had been funny to her then. _

_"What's funny is that he thinks you're too good for him. That you deserve better. And me, the big loser, I never thought that. Never once." _

_She didn't have anything to say to that either. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, wiped the perspiration from her forehead and watched him fall asleep, exhausted from the sheer effort of all his accusations. _

It would have been so easy to walk away. To take the next train to Mumbai and then the next flight back to DC. Let him wallow in his bitterness and jealousy.

But the truth was, for all his resentment, Alec was grateful she was there. On occasion he'd even tell her as much. Sometimes she'd wheel him outside at night to escape the heat. They'd stare at the breathtaking night sky together and then he'd hold on to her hand and not let go for hours.

She might not have loved him anymore then, but she did love him once. Spent years of her life as his wife, and that was enough to not let him spend his last days alone.

She'd been with him the night he slipped away. He could barely speak anymore. The sores on his lips and inside his mouth had made every word painful.

But even so, she'd never forget his last words.

_"Gillian..." _

_"Yeah..." _

_"Promise me something." _

_"What?" _

_"Prove me wrong, please." _

_"What do you mean?" _

_"Don't go back to him. Don't let him be the one to pick up the pieces."_

_"What do you want me to do?" _

_"Don't let him be your hero...please. Not him."_

It was the last intelligible thing he'd said that night. His thin, disease ravaged body finally gave out a few hours later, leaving her exhausted and alone.

It was a damn selfish thing to ask. She could see that now. If the tables had been turned and her ex had dropped everything to take care of her in the last weeks of her life, she would have wanted happiness for him in return. Would have insisted on it. Even if his happiness came in the arms of a woman she loathed.

But it was hard to judge Alec when so much of what he'd confessed to her in those last weeks had left laden her with guilt.

Maybe if she'd realized the depth of his jealously back when it still mattered, they could have addressed it. Could have done something about it. Maybe if she'd admitted to herself that she needed more than he was able to give her.

But by then it was too late for maybes.

When she returned to the United States, the first thing she checked was her voicemail. More accusations. From Cal this time.

Even though she understood his anger, the messages made her cry. Made her want to throw the phone out the window.

She hated them both that day. Alec and Cal.

After all she'd given them, neither man was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Neither of them seemed to know her well enough to know that she'd never hurt them.

_"Go to hell. Both of you." _

Instead of returning his calls, she shut the drapes and didn't leave her house for a week.

And when her exile was over, the only thing she felt was empty.

"You'll be happy to know I did prove you wrong..." she whispered to no one. Her thoughts were back in the present. Back on the eerily quiet train stranded in the wilderness. "I didn't run back to him. Even though I hated you for making me feel too guilty just to pick up the phone and call my friend."

Thinking back to it all made her feel sick. Literally.

Air. She needed air.

She'd seen other passengers step outside. To have a cigarette. To escape the claustrophobia they were all starting to feel. Or just to take in a breath of ice-cold air.

Gillian kept walking and when she found a door, she yanked it open, like she'd seen other passengers do.

It was freezing and she shivered in the cold.

But instead of closing the door, she grabbed onto a rail and stepped down into the snow outside. Without a platform it was a steep drop to the ground and for a moment she wondered how she'd get back inside.

Gillian thought that maybe the ice-cold air would lessen her nausea but she was wrong.

She threw up almost as soon as she stepped outside.

She thought maybe she'd feel better afterwards, but she was wrong about that too.

Gillian leaned against the metal car and closed her eyes, letting the cold air envelop her. She wanted to stay out here, away from the misery inside the train. Away from the fear of the dying.

She was so cold her teeth started to chatter.

"Get a grip..." she told herself aloud. Most passengers were getting better and the Canadian government was coming to the rescue soon. In the meantime, they needed to do what they could for the sick and, above all, they needed to stay calm.

Gillian forced herself to climb up onto the rail car and go back inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Aboard The Canadian_

"Put these on."

Doctor Bennett tossed Cal two surgical masks and two pairs of latex gloves.

"Both pairs?"

"Yes." He answered as he put on two pairs of gloves himself.

Cal felt a sudden sense of unease. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Karl Bennett turned to him and paused before putting on his mask. "We can't make a proper diagnosis without any diagnostic equipment. But everything indicates that those who have the additional symptoms are suffering from a viral hemorrhagic fever."

A chill went up Cal's spine. "As in, say...Ebola?"

Doctor Bennett nodded. "Ebola is a VHF, yes. But there are others as well. What's different with this one is the near lack of an incubation period. Normally Ebola patients become ill between one and ten days after exposure to the virus. Not five to ten hours later. But the symptoms of most VHFs are very similar to what we've seen in Sarah Jensen, and now Bruce Ripley..." He saw Cal's puzzled expression. "He's the musician who sat in your train car."

"Who else?"

"Another woman who was also in your car. A young tourist from Norway. And possibly...Eleanor. Four in total."

Cal eyed the doctor's face. "So those four never recovered like the majority of the people on the train? I thought you said we're dealing with the flu. I might not have a medical degree but I'm pretty sure the flu doesn't morph into Ebola."

"These four patients. Those who have the VHF, they were not originally sick."

"Wait a minute..." Cal looked at him in disbelief. "You're suggesting there are _two _completely separate outbreaks on this train? What the hell are the odds of that? You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe or don't believe, Dr. Lightman. I'm telling you what I see in front of me, as a physician."

Cal stared at him, shocked to find not even the slightest hint of deception in his face. How was it possible he'd seen it earlier and it was gone now? How was it possible the doctor now seemed as shocked by what was going on as everyone else?

"Do you have any idea how this is spreading?" Cal asked instead.

"Most VHFs don't spread by human contact. They spread by means of an animal host. Mosquitoes, rats, mice, ticks, monkeys, you name it. Only some, like Marbug, Ebola, Lassa fever and CCHF, can also spread through secondary transmission, that is, from human to human, and then only through contact with the infected bodily fluid."

"So for us to get this, we'd need to be in direct contact with someone's blood or saliva..."

"Theoretically, yes. _Any_ bodily fluid," Dr. Bennett finished for him. "Which is why I don't want anyone going to an infected patients' cabin without donning the maximum protection we have available."

"When my friend came to see me...her clothing was full of Sarah Jensen's blood."

"Sarah was hemorrhaging severely at that point. It was...unavoidable."

"Knowing that...why is outside help taking so damn long? What are they waiting for, more deaths?"

"I've told Health Canada that I think we're dealing with a VHF. In turn, they're taking added precautions..."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they can't decide where they want us pulling into. Or where they want to bring people once we do arrive. We need a larger city that will have the facilities to accommodate a potential large scale outbreak and at the same time they don't want to risk bringing us to a large population centre..."

"So while politicians are debating, people are dying."

Doctor Bennett nodded grimly. "It is what it is, Dr. Lightman. This country dealt with a serious SARS outbreak not so long ago. They're as paranoid about infectious disease as we are about national security."

"But help is _coming_ soon?"

"I hope so, Dr. Lightman, because we're running out of supplies quickly. And when we do we have to decide whether it's worth the risk trying to treat these ill passengers without any protective gear..."

"But this is absurd. Why doesn't the engineer just re-start the train and pull into the next station? The authorities_ have_ to deal with this. These people need proper medical care, not aspirin and cold compresses!"

"We don't know exactly what we're dealing with here," Doctor Bennett re-iterated, losing his patience. "If this is as contagious as it appears to be, the last thing we want is to bring it into a city without taking every precaution. Without making sure that the transport of these passengers is being done in a manner that will contain the virus. If not the consequences could be disastrous."

Cal exhaled. There was still no trace of deception on the doctor's face and strangely enough he found that disconcerting. He'd been so sure of what he'd seen before and now it was gone.

It made no sense.

The control he regained after recovering from his illness felt like it was slowly slipping away again.

_Aboard the Canadian_

Gillian Foster eyed the names on the cabins she passed by as she walked down the corridor.

This was Eleanor Bennett's idea. She'd asked two of the VIA rail employees who, like Cal, were well enough after recovering from the flu-like illness to help them out, to put the names, ages and conditions of every passenger on a piece of paper taped to the cabin door. To mark the time, to the nearest hour, when their symptoms had first appeared.

_Emiko Goto, 63 & __Masayuki Goto, 69, __Wednesday 7:00 - __Recovering, Quarantined _

_Birgit Mittermeier, 66 & __Johannes Mittermeier, 67, __Wednesday 10:00 - __Recovering, Quarantined _

_Solange Tremblay (VIA Rail), 27, __Wednesday 6:00 -__Recovered, Quarantined _

_Per Langsjoen, 32, __Wednesday 13:00, -__Recovered, Quarantined _

The list went on as she walked down the hallway, its names a reflection of the many nationalities on board the train.

It encouraged her that the bulk of the names were followed by the word, "recovered." The quarantine part indicated that the passengers were heeding the advice that VIA rail was announcing every hour or so over the public announcement system. That those who'd been ill stay in their cabins. Not everyone adhered to the suggestion but the vast majority of the passengers did.

"It's called fear."

The two recovered VIA rail employees were now in the process of delivering food to the quarantined passengers. They did it by opening the door, slipping the food dishes through and closing the door again without so much as a hello to the passengers inside.

The less contact, the better, Doctor Bennett cautioned them.

Gillian wondered what they were doing inside their cabins to stave off the boredom of confinement in such cramped quarters. In this age of constant stimulation and social media they were an isolated anomaly. There was no television, cell phone nor internet service available. In other words, no one was tweeting about this.

'You're all about to go mad with cabin fever,' she thought, thinking about what the psychological ramifications of an experience like this would entail. 'You'll probably never take another train trip for as long as you live.'

There wasn't even a change of scenery to look at outside. The train hadn't moved in hours.

Another name caught her eye as she walked down the corridor.

_Eleanor Bennett, 36, __Wednesday 22:00 _

And then in bold red letters.

_Active Symptoms. Quarantined. All entry into cabin forbidden. Protective gear required. _

All entry into the cabin forbidden meant to everyone but Bennett, Brandon and herself. They had all already been tending to the passengers with the additional symptoms.

'The three of us cross our fingers and keep going, ' she thought morbidly.

Gillian pulled a surgical mask from her pocket and put it on. She carried half a dozen of them around now.

She opened the door to the cabin to and stepped inside to see Eleanor Bennett lying on the bed, curled into a fetal position.

"Hey..." she said softly. "How are you?"

Eleanor groaned as she turned around. She opened her eyes and Gillian was shocked to see they were rimmed bright-red. Just like Sarah Jensen's had been.

"Gillian?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you give me two more Tylenol?"

"Of course." Gillian poured two pills from the container on the shelf next to the bed. She poured a glass of water and helped Eleanor sit up to drink it.

"My head...it's killing me..." she said softly, closing her eyes after she swallowed the pills. "This won't do much, but...you know, mind over matter, as you psychologists like to say."

Gillian forced a smile. "Right."

She might not have felt a lot of fondness for Eleanor Bennett so far, but she hated seeing her like this.

"I won't be lucid much longer," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "When that happens, can you please make sure Karl is here?"

'Why?' Gillian wondered. 'Because you're afraid of saying something you don't want us to hear?'

"You don't have to ask," was what she said instead. "He's your husband...of course he'll be here."

Eleanor sank bank into the pillows. Exhausted. Feverish. She looked so much smaller and younger than she did a few hours ago. "Yeah. He will be."

"Can I do anything else to make you more comfortable?"

She re-opened her eyes, her breathing heavy. "I know we didn't hit it off on the right foot...I'm always such a bi..."

As if any of that mattered now, Gillian thought, cutting her off. "Eleanor, forget about it."

"Do you mind staying with me for a few minutes?" She looked like she might cry. "I hate being in here alone."

Gillian sat down on the bed next to Eleanor, taking the woman's feverish hand into her own, hating that she had to wear the latex gloves. It made the contact between them so clinical and cold.

Sitting down made her realize how tired she was too. She wished she could think of something to say. She of all people should've been ready to offer some sort of reassurance that wouldn't sound trite or hollow or clichéd.

But she had nothing.

"Thanks," Eleanor whispered.

Gillian cupped the woman's hand between hers, at least letting her know she wasn't alone. "You're welcome."


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for reading and big thanks to GDA for proof reading! :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

_Aboard The Canadian _

Gillian Foster was walking through the almost empty dining car when she spotted Cal sitting at a table alone, eating what looked like pasta with meat sauce and a bread roll.

It was good to see him, because seeing him here reminded her of the one bright spot in this god-awful mess. That she wasn't alone. No matter how impossible a problem they'd faced during their years at the Lightman Group, she knew she could handle it with him at her side.

"You really are starving."

"That flu or whatever that I had, was worse than a five-hour work-out at the gym."

"What would you know about five hour work-outs at the gym?"

He smirked. "You think I get this physique from sitting in an office all day, luv?"

"I do."

He pushed the plate and a spare silver fork in her direction. "You must be starving too. Have some."

Gillian pushed it back. She still felt queasy. Food was the last thing she wanted. "No, thanks."

"It's excellent. I talked to the VIA chef...apparently he trained at a four-star Michelin restaurant in France." He twirled a giant mouthful onto his fork and ate it hungrily. It was how he always ate. As if it was going to be his last meal for days. Like a camel storing up for a trek across the desert, Cal Lightman was incapable of savouring a meal.

Gillian eyed him. If he was making small talk with the chef it was because there was something else he was trying to push from his mind. She knew that he couldn't care less about fine dining and Michelin stars. "Have you seen Karl since you left my cabin?"

"Yeah," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"And?"

"I helped him check on some of the passengers. Most of the sick have recovered. They're stuck in their cabins and they're antsy. We told them that we have a couple of passengers whose symptoms haven't improved..."

"There's an understatement..."

"We went to check on Malin Fredriksen, the young Norwegian woman. She's in bad shape, Gill." He stopped shovelling food in his mouth and met her eyes. "She's hemorrhaging now. Nosebleeds. Heavy bruises and swelling all over her body. We can't control the fever and she's barely conscious."

Gillian swallowed. An image of Sarah Jensen's last moments flooded her mind again.

"Karl thinks she won't last another day unless we get her to a hospital and start attacking the symptoms."

"So why aren't we moving and getting these people to a hospital?"

"Because Karl told the authorities we're dealing with a viral hemorrhagic fever and now no one wants the Ebola Train anywhere near them."

It was the first time Gillian had heard anyone give this thing a name. It was a word that sent a chill up her spine. "_Ebola_?"

"Our good doctor doesn't think it's Ebola, but something similar."

"Cal, there's something else...I've been wanting to tell you but I haven't had the chance."

"What?" She had his undivided attention now.

"Earlier when I was walking by the cabins, I overheard Karl and his wife talking about Sarah's condition. They said some things that struck me as odd. That her symptoms were "impossible," that her fever "should have broken". How would they have known that?"

"Unless they knew exactly what she had." Cal finished for her.

"They also said something about her symptoms having nothing to do with R1H9."

"R1H9?" Cal asked. "What's that?"

"No idea."

"I've never heard any flu being referenced by those letters and numbers." Cal pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote them down on a napkin.

"The way they talked about her... it made me think they were expecting one thing to happen and instead this thing morphed into something unexpected." Gillian stifled a yawn. "Or does that sound crazy?"

"No," Cal shook his head. "In fact, it would explain why I got the impression that Karl Bennett was hiding something the first time around, but not the second time...it would also explain why both him and his wife were immune to the first outbreak...but not the second." Cal stared at her. "What if...they not only knew what the first outbreak was, but they _caused_ it?"

Gillian raised her hands. "Wait a minute...now you're just making assumptions that you have no evidence to back up with."

"The perfume bottle!"

"What?"

"That first night in the dining car. The doctor's wife walked around spraying that thing everywhere. A few hours later...boom! Flu outbreak. What kind of physician gets squeamish about the smell of food? I mean, you've talked to this woman. Was there anything to suggest she's as neurotic as that act would imply?"

Gillian thought back to the minimal interaction she had with Eleanor Bennett. The young woman had struck her as strong-willed and professional. "Maybe not...but that doesn't mean she made an entire train full of people sick!" She leaned in to him, whispering now as one of the VIA rail employees walked past them. "And for what possible reason? What could they have to gain from that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe they were testing something."

Gillian looked at him sceptically. "That's a _huge_ leap."

"I'd love to ask her about that perfume bottle," Cal shot back. "Would love to see her reaction to my questions."

"She's sick, Cal," Gillian pointed out.

"So, I should go see her before she gets even sicker, is that what you're saying?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying and you know it."

"There's something else too, isn't there?"

Gillian eyed him. She was starting to think he was far better at reading her than he admitted. There _was_ something else. But it was almost as far-fetched as his theory that two American physicians were intentionally spreading a virus on a Canadian train.

"Come on, spit it out."

"I just get the sense that..."

"That what?"

"That they're not a couple. Karl and Eleanor."

This time Cal raised his brows. "How so?"

"It's a bunch of little things. That and...a gut feeling."

"Tell me the little things you caught," he prompted her.

"When he came to the cabin to get me, to tell me Eleanor was sick, he didn't call her "my wife". That would've been the natural verbiage to use, especially with someone he doesn't know very well, like me. Then when I went to see Eleanor just now, she asked me to have Karl come see her in case she's no longer lucid. As if she's afraid she'll say something she doesn't mean to."

"Like what?"

Gillian shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows?" She thought back to Cal's feverish musings. "People do say crazy things when they're delirious."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." She paused, smiling at the recollection before bringing her train of thought back to the two doctors. "The way she made her request. It was so detached and again, the verbiage...it was "Karl" not 'my husband'. Other times I'd watch their reactions around each other...and honestly, if they hadn't mentioned being married I'd have guessed they were colleagues. Not husband and wife. You and I are more..." Gillian stopped, her eyes meeting his as he waited for her next words.

His eyes too were glued to hers. "More what?"

"More..._in tune_," she finished, feeling her cheeks flush against her will. Hating that after all this time there were still moments like these when, out of nowhere and for reasons she wasn't quite willing to admit, he threw her emotions for a loop. "Than those two."

Cal sank back in his chair, rubbing his three-day old beard. "So I think they've made the entire train sick and you think their marriage is a fraud." His lips widened into a morbid smile. "God...for once, I hope we're both wrong. Horrifically wrong."

He stuffed another forkful of pasta into his mouth when Gillian saw Dr. Bennett running into the dining car towards them. There was a look of panic on his face. "Cal, Gillian, I need you...Bruce Ripley, the musician, he's hemorrhaging badly now..."

The knot in her stomach tightened. She wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to have another passenger die in front of her.

Cal noticed with one concerned glance in her direction. "I've got this one covered, luv."

"I could use both of you," Karl Bennett re-iterated.

Cal shot him a look that said it wasn't up for debate.

"Be careful, okay? No contact with bodily fluids," Gillian mouthed, for once grateful that he'd sensed her unease. That he didn't hesitate for a second.

She watched them walk down the dining car, knowing she should have felt like coward for not joining them. But all she felt was relief.

_Later _

When it was all over, Cal Lightman decided he needed a stiff drink. Or two or three.

And even that wouldn't do much to remove the image of the dying man from his mind.

If he thought the Norwegian woman he'd gone to see earlier looked bad, dying the Canadian musician quickly put things into perspective for him.

Bad was coughing up enough blood to fill a couple of cereal bowls.

Bad was when there was barely any skin left on the man's body that wasn't swollen and bruised.

Bad was a fever induced delirium that made the old man scream.

Bad was Dr. Bennett ordering them both to leave the cabin when there was nothing else they could do. Telling them that trying to help him wasn't worth the risk of infection.

Cal shuddered at the recollection. This was one thing he did not want to catch. He'd washed his hands afterwards until they were nearly raw, but he wasn't convinced it was enough.

He needed that drink. Badly.

Even more than that he needed to see her face.

Gillian and Emily had always been his reminders that the world hadn't gone completely mad. He knew that one glance into those blue eyes, eyes he could drown in if he'd let himself, would help erase the last half hour better than any one of those really stiff drinks he craved.

It was funny. Gillian Foster had been back in his life for less than two days. But already he was taking for granted that she'd be there, in moments like this, when he needed her.

That's how it had been, during their years at the Lightman Group. Other staff and shareholders had come and gone. But the two of them were a constant.

She was there at the end of the day. To share a drink with him after a rough case. To tell him he was a jerk when no one else had the guts to. To pick his brain and challenge his theories. To let him see her face light up when he told a lousy joke and remind him that sometimes the world was a ridiculously beautiful place.

He'd barely admit it to himself, much less anyone else. But the truth was, he missed her these last two years. Missed the way he felt when she was around.

The thought of having her back in his life again made him feel good. Made him realize he might be willing to do whatever it took to keep her there.

Cal walked back to the dining car thinking Gillian might still be there but he was wrong. Maybe she'd gone back to her cabin. Or gone to see Eleanor Bennett again.

Cal was walking between two cars when suddenly he felt chilled to the bone. Ice cold air was coming in from outside. He almost didn't see her standing next to an open door.

"Foster?" He stared at her, not sure what to make of her standing there in a short-sleeved shirt, oblivious to the cold. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's so hot in there," she told him.

"No, it's not." He took her hand in his and pulled her away from the open door. "Come on, luv. You're going to freeze standing there."

Holding her hand in his made him realize something else. That it was hot to touch. He pressed the back of his hand against her cheek and that too radiated warmth.

He exhaled with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Seeing her was supposed to lift his spirits not crush them.

"How are you feeling, luv?"

She shook her head and he saw that she was struggling not to cry. Fear. Guilt. Sadness. Defeat. Pain. He caught glimpses of all of them in her face. "Not so good."

He put an arm around her. "Come on, let's go to your cabin. Make you comfortable."

He walked down the corridor with her, noticing only then how slow her movement was and how heavily she was breathing. Had he missed all that when they talked in the dining car what seemed like only moments ago?

He pulled down the bed in her cabin, pushed aside the blanket and then reached into his suitcase, pulling out his last clean black t-shirt. "This is my lucky one," he told her with a smile. "It's big and comfortable." He helped her out of her sticky clothes and into it and made her lie down. Made her swallow two pills from the bottle she'd used earlier for him, along with a glass full of water.

"So much for your superior immune system," he chided her. "I told you not to spend so much time with me. Told you I'd give it to you at some point."

"Cal..."

"However miserable you feel right now," he cut her off, not sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. "You're going to feel ten times worse over the next few hours. Then, just when you think you can't stand it anymore, all of a sudden you're going to feel better...and then you'll be so hungry you'll feel like you could eat a horse."

"Cal," she grabbed his hand this time, forcing him to listen. Her skin was so warm it scared him. "I don't think it's..."

"You're going to be fine," he cut her off a second time, unwilling to consider any other options.

"You should wear a mask," she said softly. Her voice sounded hoarse now. Exhausted.

"Gill, look at me," he said, serious, forcing her to focus. He'd lose her to the fever soon and he needed her to know this before then. Cal knew that if she was going to beat this, at the very least she had to believe she would. A strand of hair stuck to her forehead and he calmly and gently brushed it aside. "Have I ever lied to you?"

She looked at him with a lop-sided smile. "Yes. Often."

Cal chuckled. "About anything that mattered?"

Gillian was serious now, as her eyes met his. "No."

"Do you trust me?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

"Then trust me when I say you're going to be okay. I wouldn't lie about something like this." There was no room for doubt in the tone of his voice. "You know me better than that."

Her expression relaxed. Willing to believe him. "Okay."

Cal squeezed her hand. "Try and sleep, luv, and when you wake up I'll be here."

She closed her eyes, finally giving in to her exhaustion.

He wanted to stay but he didn't trust himself. Didn't want to risk her seeing through his act. He knew he was an exceptionally good liar. But if anyone could see through him, it was her.

Instead, Cal left the cabin and closed the door behind him.

It was only when he was outside in the corridor that he leaned against the wall, his knees finally giving in, as he sank down in a crouch, cupping his face in his hands.

He felt as though someone had yanked the ground out from under his feet and he was starting a freefall.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Aboard The Canadian _

"We have good news," Karl Bennett told Cal as he approached him from down the corridor. The doctor had finally changed out of his shirt and dress slacks. Into a polo t-shirt and khakis. Cal guessed that was an informal as he got. "Just came from the engineer's car. We have the go-ahead to pull into Sioux Lookout."

"The next stop?"

"Yes. The team they've assembled is almost ready there now. Once the train starts rolling we should be there in just over half an hour."

"About damn time."

"Also, there's been no new cases the past few hours," he added. "It doesn't sound like much but it's...good news."

"Gillian's sick," Cal corrected him. The fact that Bennett noted the lack of new cases as good news when his own wife was infected with something that had just killed two other passengers, made Cal think that maybe Gillian was right. That they weren't a couple. Or even friends.

Because from where he was standing, Cal couldn't care less about the lack of new cases right now.

"Since when?"

"After we left Bruce Ripley's cabin. I went to see her."

"I see..."

"She spent more time with me than she should have when I got sick," Cal told him. "She could have what I had, couldn't she?"

The doctor hesitated. "I think...it's unlikely."

"But possible?" Cal insisted. The doctor's face was hard to read. But maybe if he wasn't running on fumes and his eyes didn't feel like sandpaper, he'd have an easier time catching his micro-expressions.

"Sure. It's possible."

This time he had no trouble catching the lie. It was so blatantly obvious. Right down to the involuntary tightening of the lips. "You say that, but you don't believe it."

The doctor stuck out his chin. Defensive. "I say that because all the most recent cases we've had, have been...something more serious."

"_All _of them?" Cal shot back. "The only new case has been your wife! If the entire train had the flu, as you suggested, there's a chance Foster has the flu too, isn't it? Not necessarily some bloody Ebola-like hemorrhagic fever!"

"I said it's possible," the doctor hissed back. "What more do you want me to tell you?"

"The truth? You say one thing, your face says something else. How can you be sure about what my colleague _doesn't_ have? Unless..." Cal took two steps towards Karl, so that he was only inches from the man's face. "Unless you know exactly what that first outbreak was. You know it wasn't the flu, don't you?"

Karl Bennett could feel Cal's breath on his face now. "You need to back off, Dr. Lightman. Get your paranoia and pseudo-science out of my face."

His irritation combined with his exhaustion and edginess instinctively made Cal want to send an uppercut to Karl's chiselled jaw. Sometimes, that really was the only way to get to the truth.

The doctor stood almost a full head taller than him and now that he wore only a t-shirt, it was easy to see that he was fit and muscular. Doctor Karl Bennett looked like he might be more familiar with five-hour workouts than Cal.

Not that it meant Cal couldn't take him in a fight. He wouldn't be the first guy bigger than him that he'd downed successfully. Fighting someone bigger than you was inevitable when you were his height. He was scrappy and had plenty of practice. But that practice also meant his gut usually knew when to back down.

He felt like this might be one of those times.

Cal swallowed, fighting back his rage. Wishing he had a release for it. "What are they going to do once we pull into Sioux Look-Out?"

A smug smile lifted the corners of the doctor's lips. "You decided against a good old fist fight?"

Cal smiled in return. "Don't make me change my mind."

The doctor lowered his shoulders, letting him know he had no plans to let anything escalate.

"From what we've been told, they're bringing those we suspect to have the VHF to the local airport to be airlifted to Winnipeg. There's a hospital there that's ready for them. All those who cared for these passengers, including you and I, will be airlifted there as well and quarantined and tested for at least forty-eight hours."

"And the rest?"

"All those who recovered from the initial outbreak and have no additional symptoms will stay here. On the train. Quarantined and monitored for the next 48 hours."

"I see," Cal rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"Cal..."

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry about Gillian. She's been a huge help."

Cal guessed he wouldn't have elicited similar feelings of sympathies from him had he been struck by a deadly virus. "I bet." She'd always been the kinder, gentler half of the Lightman Group. That much hadn't changed.

"I'm going to check on Eleanor, to let her know what's going to happen," Karl told him, before marching out of his line of vision.

_Later_

Cal Lightman heard cheers coming from the cabins and corridors when the announcement was broadcast through the PA that the train was cleared to head for Sioux Lookout. The two VIA Rail attendants who had recovered had shut all the doors and made sure no stragglers were still smoking or wandering around outside. Had checked the passenger list and made sure everyone was accounted for.

And then, finally, the train started moving to what would now be its final destination.

He heard more faint cheers, from the cabins of passengers that had no idea that there were two dead bodies on the train.

"Ignorance is bliss," Cal mumbled aloud. He was standing outside her cabin now. He fumbled with the facemask and plastic gloves that were in his pocket. Bennett had insisted he put them on if he went back to see Gillian.

Except that putting them on would negate everything he'd told her earlier.

If Foster could believe that all she had was the flu, it meant she _knew_ she'd recover. Knew that all she had to do was hang in there and bear it.

It was what he needed her to think.

He pictured Emily as his fingers toyed with the straps on his mask. His daughter deserved a father. Deserved having someone take endless, obnoxious photographs at her graduation and remind her how damn proud he was. She needed someone who wasn't going to take unnecessary risks.

Cal pulled the mask out and fastened it on his face, about to open the cabin door before he stopped himself.

Gillian was fighting for her life in there. This wasn't the time to chicken out. He owed her more than that really. But at the very least he owed her whatever weapons he could give her in this fight.

She'd have done the same for him.

Cal yanked the mask off and stuffed it back into his pocket, pulling open the cabin door before he had a chance to change his mind.

She was awake when he came in, perspiration lined her face and he was sure the t-shirt he'd given her earlier was soaked.

"Cal?"

"Hi, luv."

"Are we moving?"

"Yeah. Help is on the way. We'll be at the next stop in less than an hour. Then we're all getting airlifted to Winnipeg."

She looked confused and he wasn't sure how much of what he was saying she understood, given her sky-rocketing temperature.

"You need to change that shirt," he said softly, searching on the shelf for something of hers she could wear. He found an aquamarine v-neck shirt, with an elaborate design along its collar. He remembered her wearing it back at the Lightman Group. Remembered liking it then because it hung loosely on her shoulders and brought out the colour of her eyes.

Her eyes were glazed and red now. She groaned when he helped her sit up. And Cal had to make an effort not to react when he saw the rashes on her skin.

Not that he thought she would notice much of anything at the moment.

She leaned against him and pressed a palm against her forehead. Warmth radiated from her body.

"The headache is the worst, I know. Hang in there. It'll get worse and then it'll get better." He pulled out a napkin from his shirt pocket and rolled out two pills from it. "I got something for you. Something I stole from one of the recovering seniors on the train." Cal grabbed a bottle of water and made her swallow them. Made her drink as much as she could. "Word of advice. Old people have the good drugs. Not this over-the-counter crap."

"Thanks," she whispered.

It wouldn't help with the fever, but he hoped it would make her more comfortable.

He helped her lie back down and, afterwards, he sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned against the window, staring out at the landscape. The last rays of sunlight were sinking into the black, tree-top silhouette of the forest. Again, he'd lost all track of time and place.

Cal decided to stay here until they pulled into the station. Let Karl Bennett take care of his wife. Or whoever she was to him.

While trying to leaf through a magazine that was lying in her cabin, Gillian tossed and turned next to him.

Cal kept reading the same paragraph over, unable to digest a single sentence.

At one point, her hand reached out to grab his, startling him.

"Alec?" There was no hint of recognition in her face when she looked at him and her hand was impossibly warm in his.

"No, luv. Even better. _Me_."

"I kept your promise. I hated that you asked...but I want you to know. That I kept it."

Cal frowned. She was delirious now and he had no idea what she was talking about.

"I wanted you to know. If I'm coming to see you..."

"Oh no, you're not." He held on to her hand, cupping it in his. "You're not joining that plonker anytime soon."

A sense of urgency tightened the knot in his stomach and Cal wished the train would speed up.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for reading and extra-special thanks to GDA for proof-reading. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

_Sioux Lookout, Canada _

Cal Lightman was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on her arm. He was exhausted but he knew he wouldn't fall asleep. Not while she was lying next to him, her temperature rising along with her discomfort.

The worst was knowing he couldn't do a damn thing. Nothing except letting her know he wasn't going anywhere. Letting her hold on to him and cooling her burning skin with cold, soaked towels.

It was like putting a plaster on a bullet wound.

All of it made him want to smash the window with his fist. For all his years in the world of academia, a part of him was still the angry teenager who acted on impulse whenever he thought he'd drown in the world around him.

It was when Cal stared out the very window he wanted to hit, that he first spotted them, walking down the platform.

They were hard to miss, the dozen or so medical personnel, in their orange-coloured full-body protective suits and oxygen masks.

He pressed his face against the window and could see them entering the train, one by one.

Like giant orange ants climbing into their long, metallic burrow.

The PA system repeatedly reminded everyone to stay in their cabins. To wait until the emergency workers came to them. Dr. Bennett had explained that everyone's name was on the cabin doors. That he'd given the authorities the names of those who needed immediate medical care. The Norwegian woman, Eleanor...Gillian.

Those who'd helped take care of them would be escorted into quarantine right alongside them.

For once in his life, Cal did as he was instructed. This was too important to screw up.

He hoped they'd hurry the hell up already.

"Cal...?"

"Yeah?"

Gillian tugged at her shirt and Cal spotted traces of blood along her eyes. "I'm so hot..."

Cal grabbed a wet, cool face towel from a bucket of water on the floor and pressed it against her forehead. "You know... in any other circumstance, I'd be the last person to stop you from yanking off your clothes, but right now, I need you to hang in there a little longer."

She sank back into the pillow.

It surprised him that she was still coherent. Still understood him. Tough girl.

"Cal?"

"What is it, luv?"

"Thanks..."

"For what?"

"For staying."

Cal swallowed, fighting back the lump in his throat and the uneasy feeling that this suddenly felt like a good-bye.

"Try getting rid of me again."

Gillian closed her eyes and he thought he saw a smile on her lips.

Then there was a loud pounding on the door.

Finally.

Cal jumped to open it.

A man wearing a full bio-hazard suit stood at the door. "Doctors Lightman and Foster?"

"That's right." Cal could barely see the man's eyes through his face shield. He wanted to tap on it and remind him the damn thing wasn't airborne.

The man ignored Cal and picked up a radio. "Found passengers 64 and 65 in cabin seventeen. Need assistance with removal and transport immediately. One active case, one quarantine."

"Removal?" Cal asked, dumbfounded. "What are we, cargo?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Lightman. It's not what it sounds like. I know you're afraid and confused."

Lightman looked at him in disbelief. Psycho-babble from a man in a space suit?

Three other workers in full contamination gear showed up out of nowhere, carrying what looked like an isolation gurney.

"Dr. Lightman, please come with me. You'll be going through a containment procedure once we exit the train. It will require you to dump all your clothing, then there is a sanitization spray. It will feel like a shower. Then you'll be given a fresh set of clothing before you're brought to the airport by helicopter and from there you'll be flown to a hospital in Winnipeg where you'll be quarantined for forty-eights hours..." The man's voice sounded metallic and for a moment Cal wondered if he was dreaming it all. It was starting to feel surreal. Like the feverish dreams he'd had earlier.

"Wait a bloody minute," Cal didn't move. "I'm going with her..."

"Your colleague is in good hands. She'll be brought in a self-contained bio-hazard unit. She'll be on the same flight as you. You can stay next to her the entire time."

"If we're going to the same place, then bring us out together."

"Sir, please don't make this difficult. We don't have time to waste."

Cal raised his hands in surrender and obliged as the man nudged him out into the hallway.

He was the last person who wanted to slow things down.

He took a final glance in Gillian's direction and stared at the man behind his glass mask.

"Take care of her."

Then he walked down the corridor and exited the train for the first time in what felt like a week. A tarp covered the only exit they were allowed to use and, as the man had said, Cal couldn't bring anything into the decontamination room, where he was being sprayed with something that was supposedly minimising his risk to the world.

Not his watch. Not his cell phone or his wallet. Not a shred of his own clothing.

Buck naked. That's how he was going to start the last leg of his journey to Winnipeg.

* * *

><p><em>Winnipeg, Canada<em>

Nine of them were transported to Winnipeg.

The three "active cases" as they were now called: Eleanor Bennett, Malin Fredriksen and Gillian, as well as those who'd been in contact with them: Malin's boyfriend, Karl Bennett, Brandon, two female VIA employees who'd helped them out after recovering from the first outbreak and Cal himself.

They were all brought to an airfield in Sioux Lookout via helicopter and then transported via military plane to Winnipeg. To the city's largest hospital, where six of them were supposed to go into quarantine, while the other three were being treated immediately.

At least that was the plan, until they arrived at the hospital, took everyone's blood and temperature and discovered that the Norwegian woman's boyfriend was now also showing symptoms.

So he too was rolled into one large treatment room, along with his girlfriend, Karl's wife and Gillian.

That left Cal to share a quarantine room with Brandon and Dr. Bennett, while the two female VIA Rail employees were quarantined into a different room.

The room that Cal was sharing with the two other men was separated from the treatment room with a glass partition, allowing them to see those being treated.

Cal stared at them through the glass.

Malin Fredriksen looked by far the worst. Her face and arms were bruised and covered in rashes. She was hemorrhaging visibly. Cal could see traces of blood coming from her nose, eyes and ears.

He had a good tolerance for things that made others squeamish, and really, the woman was a stranger to him, but even so, he couldn't stand looking at her for long. It was hard to watch her suffer from behind a wall of glass.

And even though Gillian looked better,_ healthier_, than the Norwegian woman in the bed next to her, he had an even harder time looking in her direction.

Yet at the same time he found it impossible not to. As if letting her out of his sight was equivalent to letting his guard down. Letting the disease gain the upper hand.

It wasn't exactly rational, but there it was.

"How are they treating them?" Cal asked Karl Bennett, without taking his eyes from the treatment room. He saw someone fully garbed in protective gear insert an IV into Eleanor Bennett's arm.

"There are no treatments for the disease itself," Dr. Bennett answered him. He was lying on one of the three beds, obviously not sharing Cal's need to stare into the adjacent room. "The only thing you can do is give the patient supportive therapy."

"Meaning?"

"You treat the symptoms. The patient is given IV fluids to control the electrolyte balance. Hemodynamic support...medications to help lower the fever, clot the blood and lessen the hemorrhaging. Antibiotics to fight any secondary infections. Oxygen if needed."

"Plasters..." Cal mumbled.

"Not band-aids. Weapons to help the body fight this thing," Karl corrected him. "That's all you can do against a VHF. In the end it's up to the patient to fight it off."

Brandon got up to stand next to Cal, staring into the treatment room alongside him. "Are they going to make it?"

Cal didn't say anything.

"All we know is that it's a viral hemorrhagic fever at this point," Karl answered for him. "Given how rapidly it's spread, it's unlike any other VHF I've ever dealt with."

"You didn't answer my question," Brandon told him. The fear was so obvious on his young face, Cal felt as though he could reach out and touch it.

"He hasn't got a bloody clue," Cal answered. "That's the answer."

"None of us do," Karl reminded him. "The doctors are testing their blood as we speak."

"Are we going to get this thing too?" Brandon asked.

Cal looked at Karl. Gave him a don't-lie-to-the-kid look.

"It's possible."

Brandon swallowed and turned away from the window. "This was my first Trans-Canada trip...they finally gave me something besides the Windsor-Montreal corridor...thought I'd get to see my grandpa in Vancouver. Haven't seen him in, like, seven years."

"Hey, kid," Cal turned around. "You haven't got it _yet_. Maybe you won't."

"You're right." Brandon looked embarrassed. "Sorry..."

Cal cringed. Did he have to be such an ass all the time? Gillian would probably have given him a hug. After all, he was barely older than Emily.

"It's alright," he mumbled. "You have a right to be scared. Don't let it paralyse you, that's all." He looked at Karl who was lying on the bed, trying to sleep. He had to have been exhausted given that he'd been the one treating the passengers since the very start of the epidemic. Still, it struck Cal as odd that he didn't even venture a glance into the treatment room where his wife was fighting for her life, while he couldn't tear himself away from it.

"Staring into that room isn't going to help her..." the doctor told him when he caught Cal's glare in his direction.

Cal wondered who Karl was talking about. Eleanor or Gillian.

"It's helping _me_," Cal answered.

The door of their room opened and masked hospital employee came in carrying three small bags of belongings. "The items that were confiscated from you when you left the train in Ontario," he explained. "Wallets and jewellery and such. They've been declared safe."

Cal took the bag with his name on it. There were only four items inside, a wallet, a mobile phone, a pair of reading glasses and his one concession to material extravagance, the Rolex watch that had been a long-ago gift from a grateful Swiss client.

"There are phones for your use by the beds," the man told them. "So you don't need to use your cell phones."

Karl didn't even look inside his bag while Brandon grabbed his phone as if it was a lifeline. A link to the outside world at last.

Cal waited until the hospital worker left the room before turning on his phone. There were a dozen or so unheard voice messages and a half dozen texts from Emily that came on the screen.

-R U in Winnipeg yet

-R ur fingers too cold to text?

-Dad...msg me let me know u got there!

-Really is 1 short text too much trouble? U want me to call the Mounties? Srsly Dad call me. Getting worried. It's been 2 days.

-Called Mom. Both of us are worried now. call me!

-Mom's calling the police in Winnipeg. if you lost your phone on some case, get ready for an earful. still worried. love you

Cal couldn't help a smile. Nearly full sentences were the ultimate indicator of concern.

He walked over to his bed, sat down and dialled her number.

His daughter picked up on the first ring.

_"Dad!" _

It was one word. But it was her voice and it was the best sound in the world.

"Hi, Em."

"Dad, where have you _been_?" She sounded breathless, as if she was out somewhere, walking across the campus maybe. Or on her way to some date with a boy he hated already. "Did you not get any of the zillion messages I left you?"

"I didn't have access to my phone, luv."

"Winnipeg doesn't have pay phones?"

"I took the train from Toronto. There was no service...I only got here about an hour ago."

"What?" There was a pause on the other end. "You took the train? Dad...you weren't on_ that_ train, were you? The one that's been all over the news? Where people died and it got quarantined? _The Ebola Train_?"

_Was that really what they were calling it?_ Cal could imagine the headlines. Killer virus on a train would make for a good story.

"They don't know what it is, Em. They don't think it's Ebola."

"Dad?" She sounded incredulous. "Are you saying you _were _on that train?"

"Yeah..."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Dad...tell me the truth."

"Em, I'm fine. Got sick with the flu my first night on the train. But I recovered. I had contact with some of those that have the viral hemorrhagic fever, so they've put in me in quarantine for the next 48 hours along with four others."

"Dad...?" She suddenly sounded much younger than she was.

"It's just a precaution. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Em, there's something else."

"What?"

"I ran into Gillian on the train."

"_Gillian_?"

"Yeah..." Breaking this part to her seemed infinitely harder than letting her know he was here.

"But we haven't heard from her since the company broke up! Did you know she was going to be on the train?"

"No...I had no idea."

"So you two are cool again?"

The thought made him smile. "Sure. We're cool."

"Is she okay?"

This time the pause was at his end. "No. Not really..."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Six people came down with the nasty version of this thing. She's one of them. She's being treated at the hospital with three others."

"Three? I thought you just said it was six."

"Two didn't make it."

He caught an involuntary gasp from her end. "Is Gillian...is she going to...?" She didn't finish her sentence and Cal thought he heard her fighting back tears. He'd forgotten how close they were back then. Gill and his daughter. They'd even gang up on him sometimes.

"She didn't show symptoms until shortly before being brought here. That means they can treat it from the beginning. It gives her a good, fighting chance."

"Gillian can't die." It was a plea more than a statement.

"You're right. I'll make sure of it."

There was silence on the other end and for a moment he wondered whether she was crying and didn't want him to know.

"Emily?"

"Can I do anything?"

"Tell your Mum not to worry. Tell her I'm sorry I made her call the police."

"Dad..."

"I'll be in touch, luv, alright?"

"Okay." There was another pause. "I'll call you first thing tomorrow morning."

"Bye, Em."

* * *

><p><em>Later<em>

Cal still stood by the window long after Brandon and Karl turned off the lights and went to bed. Eventually, his own tiredness started to overwhelm him and he too settled down on a hospital bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He woke up to the sound of Brandon puking his guts out in the bathroom.

"Bloody hell..." he squinted his eyes when he saw that Karl had turned on the lights.

"Don't go to him," he told him. "I pressed the call button, they'll be here any second."

Karl Bennett was right. He barely finished his sentence when two masked doctors rushed in.

Brandon came out of the bathroom looking pale and clammy, and Cal didn't even have to guess.

The young VIA Rail employee was promptly moved into treatment no less than three hospital workers came in to disinfect the room while both he and Karl were moved to another room where they could spend the night.

"You'll be moved back into this room when it's been disinfected, so you can see your wife and..." He turned to Cal. "Your friend."

Cal couldn't sleep in the new room. Hated that this one had only one window, looking outside into a concrete wall.

It wasn't until they returned to the original room the next morning that Cal realized it was a blessing in disguise. That the room move had spared them from having to watch the Norwegian woman die on the other side of the glass partition.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks for reading and big thanks to my proof reader, GDA...without whom my vague medical details would be even _more_ vague. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada_

They were back in the first room. Exactly in the same positions as the night before.

Two nurses had come in earlier to draw blood from them. Left them a tray of food and some newspapers to read.

Karl was lying on the bed and Cal was staring into the adjacent room, through the glass window. Malin Fredriksen's bed was gone and Brandon was there in her place. He was the only one of the four who was still awake and alert.

There were visitors in the room now. Fully masked and gloved and suited up and limited to a few minutes a day, but visitors were allowed nonetheless. There was an elderly couple standing next to the Norwegian woman's boyfriend. Cal had no idea what his name was.

There were three people with Brandon.

But no one was there to see Eleanor or Gillian. Both of whom were sleeping.

Neither he nor Karl were allowed in the room. Not while they were still in quarantine.

The scene before him made Lightman realize he had to find and call Foster's parents. Much as he kept denying it, it was time to acknowledge that she might not make it. Three people had contacted this illness. Three people were dead. Those were some seriously lousy odds.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Karl answering his cell phone.

Cal caught snippets of the conversation while his back was turned to him.

"Tomorrow? The Canadian authorities have agreed to it?"

"I'm not sure I agree...moving her, it's risky in her condition. It's not in her best interest..."

Cal frowned. What the hell was he talking about?

"What about the media? Haven't they made it clear how many victims there are? Won't they follow up?"

He heard Karl Bennett sigh. "Yeah...no. I'm fine so far. Another fourteen hours or so and I should be in the clear. If that's the decision, yes, sir, I understand."

"Who's moving who?" Cal asked.

Karl put down the phone. "I know there's no privacy here, but do you mind? Do you have any manners? _At all_?"

"No. None."

Karl shook his head in disgust. "Twenty-four more hours, Doctor Lightman. I'm counting them."

"Then what? You're not moving your wife. How could you in her condition? And where the hell to? Who would _let _you considering how contagious this thing is?"

Doctor Bennett was tight-lipped. "I have nothing to say to you." He walked over to the window and Cal thought he saw genuine concern when Karl's gaze drifted to Eleanor lying on the other side.

"How come no one's come to see Eleanor?" Cal asked him. If the relatives of Malin Fredriksen and her boyfriend had managed to fly in from Norway, how come no one had managed to make the trip up from the US for Eleanor Bennett and her quarantined husband?

Granted, Karl could be asking him the same thing about him and Gillian.

Cal's cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He answered the call only to hear a stranger's voice at the other end.

"Dr. Lightman?"

"Yeah?"

"Where the hell have you been? Haven't you received any of my messages?"

"Who is this?"

"Dr. Philips with the APA! The man who confirmed your participation as a panel speaker at the APA conference. The panel that you missed two days ago with not a word of explanation!"

Cal winced. The APA conference. The speech he was supposed to give there to promote his book. The handsome appearance fee they were paying him for it.

He'd all but forgotten it. Could barely bring himself to care about it anymore.

"I was on the train," he explained. "The one that should have gotten into Winnipeg two days ago."

"The Ebola train? _You_ were on the Ebola train?"

Cal cringed when he heard the name. "Yeah...that one. There was no phone service on the train to let you know."

"I see."

"I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."

"Doctor Lightman...your absence, it put us in a difficult position."

"I'll pay back the advance."

He ended the call before he had a chance to hear what the man's response was. He should've cared. Should've probably even mustered an apology.

Instead, he stared at the window into the next room. There was a masked doctor tending to Gillian. Her nose was bleeding slightly and she looked half-awake. She was clearly uncomfortable and pain was the only thing he caught on her face.

At least she was still maintaining her oxygen levels. Cal noticed that Eleanor had an oxygen mask permanently strapped to her face now.

What did a speech about his crap book matter when Gillian was a few feet away from him, fighting to live? While he stood on the other side of a glass wall, watching and waiting. He'd never felt so utterly useless before.

Life was unfair, Cal knew that. But _this_ was a whole other level of unfair.

Cal clenched his fist. "Stop it..."

He didn't do self-pity and he wasn't about to start now. So he might be helpless as far as Gillian was concerned. But there were things he could do. Things he_ had_ to do. Even if he couldn't do them himself.

Cal pulled himself away from the window, grabbed his cell phone, stepped into the washroom cubicle and turned on the water, after closing the door behind him.

He didn't need Karl Bennett listening to this conversation.

Cal scrolled down to a number that was still one of his contacts but that he hadn't called in over two years.

He called the number, hoping it still belonged to her.

Her voice answered on the third ring.

"Torres?"

"Doctor Lightman?" The shock in her voice was obvious. They hadn't parted on good terms and he was lousy at staying in touch, so Cal didn't blame her. But the truth was, he'd been more than just her employer once. He'd been her mentor and while he'd never voiced it aloud, he'd been proud of her more often than not.

Cal also knew that after they went bankrupt, she'd made another effort to get the position at the FBI that she'd turned down during those final months at the Lightman Group.

Ria Torres didn't know, but Cal had called the FBI back then. Made it quite clear to them that it would be their loss if they chose not to extend their offer to her.

He heard she started her job with the FBI a few weeks later. The FBI might not have liked him, but they didn't doubt his skills.

That could be a gift to him now. It meant Ria Torres had the resources that he needed at her fingertips.

"I'm in a bit of a bind, Torres. I need your help."

"My help?"

"Have you been watching the news lately? Have you heard about this train in Canada that was struck by this virus?"

"The Ebola Train?"

"Yeah...that's the one. I was on it and they've put me into quarantine in Winnipeg."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. But I need your help with some things."

"What were you doing on that train?"

"Torres, listen to me..."

"I can barely hear you, what's that noise?"

"The tap is running."

"Can you turn it off?"

"No. Look, I need you to find out whatever you can about a Karl Bennett. Karl with a k, and his wife Eleanor. They're both American doctors. I don't know where from but I need you to find out everything you can about them."

"Doctor Lightman..."

"I also need a contact number for Foster's parents."

"What?" He could hear the irritation in her voice even in that one-short syllable.

"This is really important."

"I know this might come as a surprise to you..._but I don't work for you anymore_!"

"I know, I know...you're with the FBI now. Home-grown terror cell detection, that's your current specialty isn't it?"

"How'd you know?" Genuine surprise.

"Even after our kids go their own ways, we still keep an eye on them."

"Funny."

"Torres...can you just do this for me?"

"You have no idea how busy I am right now..."

"Look, Foster's fighting for her life in the room next to me. I need some help here. Please."

"What?" Her voice dropped an octave. "Foster was on the train with you?"

"She came down with the virus."

"Oh my god...is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. But whatever you find might help her."

"Why didn't you say so? Of course...I'll get it as soon as I can. Whatever you need."

Cal exhaled, a half-smile on his lips. He should have said as much from the start. Maybe his ex-employees wouldn't drop everything to move mountains for him. But they'd do it for her.

"Thanks, Torres."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

Karl Bennett was speaking to one of the hospital doctors when Cal's phone rang. It was Ria Torres.

Running into the bathroom with the phone would've been too obvious, so he stayed in the same room as the other two men, hoping they were too focused on their own conversation to pay any attention to his.

"What'd you find out?"

"I found three Carl Bennetts that are or were members of the AMA. One's a seventy year general practitioner from Montana. He just retired."

"Can't be...who else?"

"There's a cardio-thoracic surgeon who works at St. Joseph's in Atlanta. I even dug up a photo. Big, African-American..."

"No...not him. Who's the third?"

"A Carl Ethan Bennett. Just opened a plastic surgery practice in Manhattan."

"Did you get a photo of him too?"

"Yeah. Blonde hair, skinny and short. By the way, none of them spell their name with a k. And I couldn't find any practising physician by the name of Eleanor Bennett."

"None of these fit, Torres." Cal stared at Karl Bennett, or whoever the hell he was, talking to the Canadian doctor. There was worry on his face as they discussed Eleanor's condition.

"Is it possible you have the name wrong?"

"Yeah..." He wondered what else he had wrong.

"I got phone numbers for Foster's parents too. Do you want to take them down?"

"Yeah...give them to me."

Cal entered the numbers she dictated into his phone.

"How is she doing?"

"Not good."

There was a pause on the other end. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah...answer the phone and help me out when I call you again. I _will _call you again."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Torres."

He hung up the phone before she had a chance to reply.

The doctor walked towards Cal now for his daily update.

"Good news, Dr. Lightman. We still haven't found any traces of the virus in your blood."

He didn't care. "How's Foster?"

The doctor paused. Weighing his words as people were prone to doing when they wanted to limit the impact of what they had to say. Softening the blow.

Cal hated it. He liked his truth straight up.

"I won't lie to you."

"Good. I don't advise it."

"I'm not going to tell you that we're...optimistic. She's been receiving extensive supportive therapy these last 24-hours, to combat the severity of her symptoms, and yet she's shown virtually no improvement. If anything her symptoms have worsened. We've barely been able to bring down her temperature."

Cal felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"That doesn't mean we're giving up," the doctor assured him. "Quite the contrary. Because we don't know yet what kind of VHF we're dealing it means we're using various treatments. We've started Doctor Foster on a course of Ribavirin which has shown effectiveness in treating patients with Lassa Fever."

"So you're saying she's a guinea pig."

The doctor bristled at the suggestion. Cal knew he had the ability to put everyone on the defensive. At the same time he could hear Gillian's exasperated voice in his head.

_"Is it really necessary to antagonize everyone in the room? All the time?" _

"No, I'm saying we're pulling out all stops. Trying everything."

Cal bit his tongue. "Thank you." The last thing he needed was to piss off the people who held her life in their hands.

The doctor's face softened. "It goes without saying Dr. Lightman."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

He'd made several other calls that day. On the cell phone he wasn't supposed to use in his room. Two to his daughter who'd picked up right away and done a lousy job of hiding the fear in her voice.

One call each to Gillian's mother and father. He didn't catch either of them in person. Instead, he left urgent messages. Urgent enough that he was genuinely surprised that the day had come and gone and he hadn't heard back from either of them yet.

There'd been a call to Zoe too. Letting her know he was sorry for worrying their daughter. And her. That he was behaving, in spite of his confinement.

He'd called Gillian's cell too. Not because he'd finally lost his mind and imagined her picking up. But because he suddenly needed a reminder of what she sounded like when she was healthy and full of life. Even if her voice came in the form of a recording that sounded too bloody professional for his taste.

That night Cal waited until Karl Bennett fell asleep. Waited longer than that, really.

It wasn't until he heard him snoring softly in the bed across from him, that Cal grabbed his cell phone and quietly made his way across the room to the closet where their new clothing hung. Courtesy of the Canadian government.

Cal opened the door slowly, barely seeing it move in the darkness. His fingers groped for Bennett's jacket and the wallet that was inside it.

Noiselessly, he closed the closet door and took his loot to the bathroom, where he turned on the lights.

Cal went through its sparse contents. Two hundred and twenty-three dollars in US cash. Eight-five in Canadian.

A couple of ID cards that somehow didn't look right.

Then he spotted a tiny slit that looked like it marked the opening of another pocket. Cal clumsily tried to wedge it open. He almost gave up when he caught the glimpse of a plastic edge.

It looked as though a credit card might've been wedged into that pocket.

He fiddled with it until finally his nails caught a hold of it and then he grabbed it between his teeth, until the card finally slid out.

It wasn't a credit card after all, but an ID card, complete with a magnetic swipe.

It had a photo of the man he knew as Karl Bennett with a different name underneath.

_Dr. Anthony Pirelli_

_USAMRIID_

"How convenient..." Cal whispered aloud. Stunned. "That my quarantined room mate with the fake name just so happens to work for the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases."

He dialled Torres' number on his phone only to have it go to voice-mail.

He tried a second time. Then a third before she finally picked up sounding half asleep.

"Lightman?"

"Didn't I tell you I'd call back?"

"Not at three thirty in the morning..." He heard a yawn at her end.

"I had the name wrong," he told her, remembering what Gillian had told him on the train. "I want you find out whatever you can about a Doctor Anthony Pirelli and something called R1H9..."

"Hang on, I need to write this down..."

"Then call USAMRIID and tell them you need to know about Dr. Pirelli and his research concerning R1H9."

"Think they'll volunteer that information?" she asked, wide-awake now.

"For god's sake, Torres, make something up. You're calling from the FBI because you think some far-right nut job has got a hold of this thing. That it's a potential internal terror threat...that's your field now, isn't it?"

"And then?"

"Then tell me what you found out."


	14. Chapter 14

As always big thanks to my proof reader, GDA and to those reading and taking the time to leave me your feedback!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

"Did I not make myself clear when I said she could die of this thing? I know Americans can have a hard time understanding me...but I thought I was pretty clear on that part."

"Look...Doctor Lifeman."

"_Lightman_."

"I know this might sound cold...but I can't just...hop on a plane to, where was it again?" The man's voice was rough and gravelly. Like that of a heavy smoker.

"Winnipeg. It's at most a four or five hour flight from anywhere in the United States."

"I can't...take off to Winnipeg on a moment's notice. I have a new family, a _young _family, a busy job, responsibilities...the Lord has blessed me in so many ways."

Cal wanted to yell something decidedly un-Christian into the phone.

"I'm going to say this one more time...your daughter could die of this thing."

"I appreciate your concern...it's apparent to me that you're someone who cares for her, and I'm very grateful she has a friend with her in this hour of need."

_"But I'm not her bloody father. You are!" _

Restraint was hard for him in the best of times, but Gillian's father, who'd clearly traded in alcohol for evangelism since Cal last heard of him, was making it near impossible.

He pictured someone telling him Emily was hurt. Tried to imagine what he'd do to anyone attempting to keep him away from her.

"You have to understand," Gillian's father explained, seemingly unaffected by Cal's outburst. "I haven't spoken to Gillian in years. I was young...and back then I was a very different man. The sins I committed, the drinking, it made it very hard for us to... have a proper relationship. Later, when I tried, and I assure you, _I did try_, it was only to find out that my daughter didn't have it in her heart to forgive me. But you can tell her that it's alright...that I'm not angry with her. I've forgiven her."

"Yeah...that'll be the first thing I tell her."

Dad was a lost cause, Cal realized. "I can't reach her mother. Do you have another number I can try?"

"Gillian's mother? I haven't spoken to her in ages. I think...she used to have a time share in Mexico that she goes to in the winter. I don't have a number. I'm not even sure where in Mexico it is."

"Useless..." Cal mumbled.

"Pardon me?"

"I said...I'll tell your daughter you tried your damndest to get here."

"The Lord says, 'whoever lives and believes in me will never die'. She'll be in my prayers tonight, Dr. Lifeman."

"Fantastic."

Cal ended the call, suppressing the urge to toss the phone against the glass wall.

One look through the glass partition and he saw the Norwegian woman's boyfriend surrounded by family. He also saw a young, masked and gloved woman holding Brandon's hand.

But Gillian Foster, who'd use company funds to pay for a kid's education or break the law to help a desperate delinquent. Gillian, whose biggest bloody flaw was caring too much, couldn't get her own father to get his ass up here?

"Bastard..." Cal mumbled under his breath.

On the other side of the room Karl Bennett was on the phone too and from the sounds of it, his call was as frustrating as Cal's had been.

"I want it to go on record that I didn't recommend moving her, is that clear?"

Cal eyed him in disbelief after Karl finished his conversation. He still thought of him by that name. "So Uncle Sam is really coming to fly her out, is he? Your bosses must have some serious pull with the Canadian government."

"What are you talking about?"

"Eleanor, or whatever the hell her name is, is being transferred from this hospital once your quarantine is over in..." Cal looked at his watch, "Six hours from now. Isn't she?"

"Our insurance provider is insisting on..."

The ridiculousness of his lies made Cal's blood boil. "Bullshit."

Karl Bennett moved closer to him. Close enough that Cal could nearly feel the man's breath on his face.

"What do you want from me, Doctor Lightman?"

"The truth?" Cal answered. "Maybe starting with your name? Do you go by Tony or Anthony? Nah...come to think of it, you probably insist on people putting the doctor in front of your name. The same way you do it with mine, hoping I'll return the favour, right, Tony? Oh, sorry...Dr. Pirelli."

Indignation flushed Karl's face. That and other emotions that Cal saw bubbling to the surface one after another. Rage. Fear. Guilt.

"You went through my things..."

"You left me no choice."

Karl Bennett moved even closer and Cal resisted the urge to push him back.

"You don't want to go down this path..._trust me_."

"Oh, I do," Cal corrected him. "I do want to know exactly what happened on that train before you hightail your secretive military ass out of here and I'll never find you again. And believe me, trusting you is the last thing I plan on doing. You_ know_ what the people in the room next to us have, don't you?"

"No. I don't know."

Cal stared at him, expecting deception and again disappointed to find none. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care."

Cal's mind went back to the outbreak and he forced himself to focus on the events. The initial outbreak that had floored nearly everyone on the train. The virus that had incapacitated them so quickly that people could barely lift their heads off their little VIA Rail pillows.

But it came and went in just over twenty-four hours for most people. It was_ afterwards_ that it morphed into something more serious for a select few.

'No...I'm wrong.' Cal corrected himself. 'It never morphed into something more serious. It was only those that_ didn't_ get hit by the first virus that got the second.'

Cal remembered seeing no deception when Karl spoke about the two outbreaks.

There _were_ two completely separate outbreaks. That wasthe truth.

The first of which was somehow manufactured by the two doctors from USAMRIID.

And then there was a second one that took all of them by surprise. Including the two culprits.

"No..." Cal told Karl. "Maybe I do have it wrong. You don't know what they have, " he said pointing to the room next door. "But you did know about the first outbreak, didn't you? It's how you knew that Gillian didn't have the first virus when I asked you...because you knew it wasn't possible at that point."

Cal stared at him, easily spotting the half-dozen micro-expressions that the doctor didn't even know he was sharing. "I'll take that as a yes."

Something else suddenly occurred to him too. "That first outbreak...it was the perfect virus, wasn't it? It knocks down, what? More than eighty percent of its victims without killing them. How perfect would it be to spread this thing over a town we're about to invade? Or a prison population we're trying to subdue? Best of all...it's all over in less time than it takes a train to get from Toronto to Winnipeg. It's one hell of a convenient weapon to have in our arsenal, isn't it? One that's not nearly as messy as some of those nasty biological hazards we're too scared to unleash for fear that they'll kill us too." Cal realized something else. "I think that's why you and Eleanor didn't get it. Because you were vaccinated against the first outbreak...but not the second. So maybe you weren't even testing the virus...maybe you were just testing the effectiveness of your immunity in a non-laboratory setting...and confirming what percentage of the population had a natural immunity."

Veins were throbbing in the doctor's neck now. Cal felt like he'd hit the jackpot. He was an excellent guesser.

"You're making vile, insane accusations. Accusations that I won't even dignify with..."

"Oh, spare me, Tony." Cal cut him off.

Another realization hit him now too. Gillian mentioning that Sarah Jensen, the first person to die of the second outbreak had been a nurse with _Médecins sans Frontières_. That she'd been ill since she left the Congo.

"But what you didn't bank on was a young nurse bringing back something much more sinister from Africa..."

Another look at the doctor's face told him he was hitting close to the mark for a second time.

"Or was it your little virus that caused whatever the nurse had to go haywire? Caused it to morph into something fatal?"

This time Cal couldn't read much of anything on the man's face and he wondered whether it was because Karl Bennett didn't have the answer himself.

Rage crept up along his throat again. "If my best friend dies because you were conducting some military experiment..."

The doctor was completely in his face now and his voice wasn't much louder than whisper. "You're so damn self-righteous...you act like you're the only one who's got a friend in that other room."

Cal raised his brows. "_A friend_?"

Karl Bennett realized his slip almost as soon as he'd committed it. "My wife is my best friend..."

"That woman is no more your wife than your name is Karl Bennett." Cal snickered. "That's the problem with lies, Tony. You have to remember them all. All the time." Cal took a step forward, his chest nearly touching the other man's. "Now why don't you do us both a favour and stop this charade."

"What is it that you think you're going to do with your revelations and supposed truths?"

Cal shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know...but I'm willing to bet some investigative reporter would salivate at the thought of writing a story about two American doctors spreading viruses on Canadian trains. Who wouldn't mind pounding on the door of your employer and asking about R1H9...that's what first thing is called, isn't it?"

The doctor looked at him with something Cal didn't expect. Pity. "You really think if any of this were true you'd get as far as having a reporter investigate it?"

"Last time I checked freedom of the press still exists."

"Freedom of the press took a backseat after 9/11, Dr. Lightman. When it comes to homeland security, freedom of the press isn't worth a whole lot."

"You're saying any attempts to expose you and your virus will get squashed by Homeland Security. By the US military, under the pretext of keeping America safe..."

Cal caught a trace of sadness in the man's face now and that scared him, more than the rage or the indignation he'd seen earlier.

"I'm not saying anything, except that you might want to be careful who you piss off." He glanced at the room next door. "Especially when you have friends whose lives are already in jeopardy."

"So..." Cal swallowed. "Now you're threatening me...threatening_ her?_"

"No, of course not," he lied. "I'm only asking you whether you realize who you're dealing with. What's at stake and what kind of collateral damage others might not hesitate to unleash. Personally I don't give a damn what you do. I might even enjoy seeing you getting stonewalled. But I'd hate to see Gillian pay the consequences of your recklessness and your selfish quest for the so-called truth."

For someone who barely knew him, the man had found his Achilles heel with astonishing ease. Then again, the way he kept staring into the adjacent room probably made it obvious.

Karl Bennett stepped away from him and gone was all the pretence he'd seen on the man's face in the last few days.

It was as though Cal was seeing him for the very first time. Anthony Pirelli, military researcher. Insignificant pawn in game that clearly had bigger players than either of them.

"What I am trying to tell you," he added quietly. "Is that sometimes knowing the truth is pointless. It doesn't make the slightest difference."


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks for reading and extra special thanks to GDA for going over it and keeping my typos in check. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

"So they're really taking her back to the US?" Cal pointed out incredulously as a group of men walked into the room next door with an isolation gurney. "Let me guess...to a world class medical facility in Maryland, while Gillian stays here...in a Canadian government hospital."

"If it were up to me," Anthony said softly. "There's no way I'd move her. It's too risky in her condition."

Cal looked at him. He was telling the truth. Sadly, Anthony Pirelli didn't wield any more power than he did. In fact, he hadn't spotted so much as a white lie from the man in the last couple of hours of their quarantine. It was almost over. Their quarantine. They were down to the last twenty minutes.

Not that he was counting.

They'd already been briefed on the precautions they needed to take when heading back into the outside world. The surgical masks they were recommended to continue wearing for the next 48 hours. Just in case.

"There's nothing they can do for her in the US that it isn't already being done for her here," he added, turning to Cal. "For what it's worth...I do care about her."

"I believe that," Cal replied.

"I also don't know what this thing is. No one does. It's likely a new VHF...and Sarah Jensen was almost definitely the carrier who brought it onto that train."

Cal frowned. "But you also don't know whether your virus didn't mutate the one Sarah Jensen brought onboard."

Anthony Pirelli put on his jacket in anticipation of their release. "I know viruses don't mutate in the span of hours."

"What's her name?" Cal asked him. "Her_ real_ name."

Anthony stood next to the glass where the men wearing protective gear were prepping Eleanor for transport. United States military personnel. "It's better you don't know."

"I see." Cal didn't protest. Maybe Anthony Pirelli had a point. Maybe some battles weren't worth fighting. He glanced in Gillian's direction. Or maybe for some of them, the price of losing was too high. "Let me know how she's doing. After you leave."

Doctor Pirelli didn't answer his request.

A nurse came through the door and walked towards Anthony. "Dr. Bennett...please follow me. There's a Lieutenant Darren O'Connell here to see you."

Anthony Pirelli gave a final nod in Cal's direction. "Good-bye, Dr. Lightman."

Cal watched him walk out the door and several minutes later he saw Eleanor Bennett being hoisted onto the isolation gurney and wheeled out of the room.

There were only three of them left now.

The Norwegian woman's boyfriend, Brandon and Gillian.

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

Wearing a scrubs, an isolation gown, a surgical mask and gloves he finally got permission to enter the room next door.

"Fifteen minutes at a time," the nurse had told him.

"I don't get forty-five since I missed the last two days?"

"Nice try."

Cal looked at the patients when he walked into the room. Surprisingly, the Norwegian woman's boyfriend looked the worst out of the three of them. He'd been one of the last to catch the illness and yet he looked like he had it far longer than the other two. There were obvious signs of hemorrhaging on his face and large bruises along his arms.

Theoretically, next to Brandon, the man should have the best chance of survival. They'd treated his symptoms from the get-go. Put him on Ribavirin right away. And yet...

'You watched the woman you love die of this thing just before you got it,' Cal thought. 'Physically you should be doing the best, but mentally you gave up after that.'

Brandon was the one who looked the healthiest. There were signs of hemorrhaging on his face too, but they were minimal. He was clearly in some discomfort, but he was awake and alert, noticing Cal when he walked into the room, amid the constant whirr of the monitors attached to all three beds.

"Doctor Lightman...you didn't get it." He mustered a smile. "Happy for you, man."

"Thanks, kid." Lightman replied. "When you're old and cynical like me, you won't get crap like this anymore either."

Brandon laughed and coughed at once. "Good to know."

Cal pulled up a chair next to Gillian's bed. She didn't look as bad as the Norwegian, but considerably worse than Brandon. He spotted the bruising along her arms and shoulders. A thin red line ran along the edges of her eyes.

He saw recognition in them when he sat down.

She pushed the oxygen mask off her face. "Cal..."

"I don't think that's a great idea, luv," he told her, moving his hand to put the mask back on, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. It wasn't as bad as it had been on the train, but she still felt shockingly warm.

Cal wondered how it was possible to run a fever this high for days now. How with all the medical advances in the world, they could only barely lower her temperature. But then he remembered Bruce Ripley. The man who died on the train. Remembered how bad the symptoms _could_ be if they weren't kept in check at all.

"You're okay?" she asked.

"Yeah...I'm fine. Healthy as a horse."

"Good." Her breathing was heavy and laboured and he resisted the urge to put the oxygen mask back over her mouth against her will. Guilt hit him too when he saw the relief on her face. He needed her to worry about herself. Not him.

"Your turn now."

Gillian looked at him with an alertness that took him by surprise. "I'm not...getting better, am I?"

"Sure you are. This new drug takes some time to kick in. You just have to hang in a bit longer."

"Liar."

"Hey," he squeezed her hand. "I can bring in the doc to tell you the same thing, if you don't believe me."

He saw doubt this time.

"I'm tired, Cal...trying to fight this. It's so hard...you have no idea."

"I know. But you have to. These VHFs...it's up to the patient to fight the symptoms. All the doctors can do is help you out."

"I'm so tired."

Cal felt his throat constrict. "If you think I'm going to sit here and tell you it's okay to stop fighting, you're looking at the wrong person."

"I can't win this battle."

"So you're giving up then?" He shook his head. "Sorry. Not acceptable."

"Only telling...you the truth." She coughed. "You always want the truth."

"No..." he looked her in the eye. Cal Lightman was a lousy motivator. The absolute worst. Eli Loker would gladly attest to that fact. Whenever that particular skill was needed in their line of work, it was Gillian who stepped in for him.

But panic and necessity were making him a fast learner.

"This is not about the truth," he told her. "Don't kid yourself. You're looking for excuses to give up and there's no way I'm going to sit here and give them to you. When you're ninety and it hurts just to get up to make a cup of that disgustingly sweet coffee you drink, then I'll gladly give you whatever excuse you want to stop fighting..._but now_?" His throat constricted and he heard his voice choke. "Bloody hell, Gill, not now. Not anytime soon."

There were so many emotions he caught etched on her face now. Fear. Doubt. Resignation. All of them were overshadowed by something that wasn't an emotion at all.

Pain.

Cal thought back to the virus he caught on the train. How wretchedly miserable he'd felt. He'd been ready to throw in the towel after 24-hours. No matter what they'd given the patients to make them feel more comfortable, she had to be feeling like hell.

"No one is surviving this..." she said softly. "_No one_."

She was too alert, too smart, for another lie. He smiled. "So what? You'll be the first. "

"Right..."

"Look, whatever you need, whatever I can give you, you let me know. If you need me to piss off the nurse and stay here way past my allotted time, no problem. If there's some nasty Canadian candy you fancy, you tell me. Screw the rules. Glass of expensive scotch...I'm your man."

This time he caught a smile on her lips.

"The only thing I won't give you is an excuse to give up, Gill." He leaned in closer. "I know you feel like hell right now. I know, luv and I'm sorry I can't do anything about that. But that's not going to last forever. And we both know you're tougher than you look."

"Yeah..." For the first time he caught a glimpse of something else in her eyes. Determination.

Cal hoped it was enough.

"Where did Eleanor go?"

"Back to the US."

"Why?"

"Long story."

"Tell me."

"When you're better."

Gillian sighed. "I'm too sick for blackmail."

Cal grinned. "Whatever it takes."

The short conversation they had took its toll on her and he saw that she was short of breath again.

She stopped protesting when he moved to put the oxygen mask back on. He hated that it meant they couldn't talk anymore. That the only thing he could do was sit there until the nurse kicked him out. Something she did much sooner than he'd hoped.

He bent down to kiss her forehead through his mask. "See you soon, luv."

It was only when Cal was back in the hospital hallway that something else occurred to him.

Now that the quarantine was over he had nowhere to go. There was no hotel room waiting for him in Winnipeg. He hadn't even set a foot outside the hospital yet.

His phone rang and he saw Torres' name on the call display.

She started breathlessly, as if she'd just climbed a flight of stairs. "I did what you asked...and you're not going to believe the response I got. First I get the run around from USAMRIID...this Dr. Pirelli, the research he does is highly classified. So classified that my FBI credentials didn't even get my foot in the door...and then when I mentioned this R1H9...you should have heard his reaction on the phone, Dr. Lightman. The guy did a total one-eighty. He demanded to know who I really was...where I got this info. I wish I could have seen his face..."

"Torres..."

"That's not all...as soon as I got in to work, who pulls me aside? Not my boss, but my boss's boss! Demanding to know what I was doing calling USAMRIID pretending it was on official business. Telling me in no uncertain terms that if I pursued this my job could be in jeopardy. What the hell is this? Did this have anything to do with the outbreak on the train?"

"Torres, I want you to drop this."

"What?" she answered incredulously. "_Why?_ They're obviously hiding something. They're threatening me if I keep investigating it! Whatever this is, it's getting all sorts of people riled up."

"So are you ready to risk your job over this?"

"I shouldn't have to be afraid for my job just because I'm asking questions! You're the one who taught me the truth is the only thing that matters."

"That was back at the Lightman Group. Not this time."

"Not this time? What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that. Stop pursuing it."

"You drop a bombshell in my lap and then tell me to forget about it?"

"That's right."

There was indignation all over her voice. Lightman didn't care. He was used to stepping on toes and burning bridges to get to the truth. But he didn't want anyone else doing it on his behalf.

He also couldn't quite get Pirelli's words out of his head.

_"...I'd hate to see Gillian pay the consequences of your recklessness and your selfish quest for the so-called truth." _

It was ludicrous and he didn't respond well to threats.

But these were the same people who flew in here and whisked out a highly contagious patient without so much as a "wait-a-minute" from the Canadian government.

_Who knew what else they were capable of?_

"I don't understand..."

"There's some things more important than the truth right now."

"Is Foster okay?"

"She's going to be fine." If he kept telling Gillian that maybe it was time to start believing it himself.

"You don't sound convinced."

He forgot who he was talking to. "Just tired, Torres. Thanks for your help with this."

The gratitude surprised her. "Yeah...of course. Anytime. Tell Foster to call me when she's up to it, okay?"

"I will."

He ended the call and rubbed his eyes.

Because of it he wasn't sure whether his vision was deceiving him or not, when he saw who was walking towards him in the hospital corridor.

He squinted and did a double take as the young woman came closer and it was unmistakeable who she was.

"Emily?"


	16. Chapter 16

Once giant thanks to GDA for proofreading! :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

"Emily?" He repeated her name, dumbfounded. It wasn't often that he couldn't predict someone's behaviour. After all, so much of what people were about to do was visible in their face or audible in their voice. Or barring that, could be predicted from their past behaviour, if you knew how to read the cues.

But every now and then, even Cal Lightman was thrown for a loop.

His daughter responded by wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug.

Normally Cal didn't like surprises. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't relish this one. He returned her hug, not wanting to let go.

It was only when he did let go and she took a step back that he let his tired eyes take in the sight of her.

Was it possible she'd grown since he'd last seen her about two months ago? Wasn't she past the age of growth spurts? Or were those merely some very high heels he spotted on her trendy boots?

Emily now stood only half a head shorter than him and she looked less like a teenager and more like the smart, perceptive and beautiful young woman that she was. He marvelled that he, of all people, could have had some part, could take some sort of credit, for all that she'd blossomed into.

"Did I miss that conversation, that message, or that text where you told me you were coming here?"

His daughter grinned. "Nope. It was a last minute decision."

"How did you get here?"

"How'd you think, Dad? I took a plane...it's Canada, not the other end of the world. Even though it is absolutely the coldest place I've ever been to! Do you know it's zero degrees out there?"

"Don't you have classes? Aren't you broke?"

"It's the weekend...and I have a credit card now."

"It is?" He'd lost all track of time and days. "And you _do_?"

"So you're really okay?"

"Don't I look okay?"

"Honestly? No."

He ignored her comment. "Did they just let you waltz in here? I thought they had all sorts of security precautions against anyone getting in here."

"I told them my dad was here. Showed them ID." Emily grinned. "Guess it's a good thing I got your last name, not Mom's."

"Does your mother know you're here?"

"Yeah...she knows. At first she tried to talk me out of it because the whole virus thing worried her. But I reminded her you weren't contagious and she agreed that you could probably use having me around for a couple of days. Especially if Gillian's sick...I'm trying to convince her it was such a good idea that she should pay for the ticket..."

Cal chuckled. Seeing her made him realize how much he missed having her in his life every single day. A visit once every couple of months wasn't enough. Probably would never be. Even if it had to be. The parenting experts were right about this one. Letting go was the hardest part.

Cal put an arm around her skinny shoulders and walked to a waiting room with her, sitting down on the first available bench.

Emily wheeled along her bright red carry-on and followed him, sitting down next to him. Her youthful face was serious now. "How is Gillian?"

"Not so great..." Now that she was an adult he'd sworn to himself that the only time he justified lying to his daughter was when it involved her own safety and well-being. Any other time it was off-limits.

"Can I see her?"

He shook his head. "Not now. Just came from seeing her and I think I wore her out."

Emily grinned. "Mom would say you have a way of doing that to people." She looked him in the eye. "But she's going to be okay?"

"I don't know, luv. This virus thing, it's serious stuff."

Emily frowned. Her face told him it wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.

"Worst thing is that she knows that no one's survived this thing. It's not giving her a hell of a lot of hope."

Emily frowned and Cal almost felt bad for laying it out to her. Sometimes the truth hurt.

"_No one_ who got it survived it?"

He managed a half-hearted smile. "Not_ yet_."

"Dad...there's got to be something we can do!"

"Let's get out of here for a bit," he told her. "Get some non-hospital food."

"Where are you staying?"

It was a good question. "I don't know."

"You do need me around." Emily stood up and motioned for him to do the same. "In that case...accommodations first. Then food."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

There were a lot of things he wasn't quite prepared for in his first foray outside of the building they'd carted him into two days ago.

Beginning with the mob of reporters that assaulted them outside the hospital entrance.

Everyone wanted to talk to someone who was on the Ebola Train. Preferably someone who'd had hands on experience with the as-yet-unnamed VHF. Even better would be someone who'd actually survived the whole thing.

They might have to wait a while for that one, Cal thought.

He also wasn't quite prepared for the way Emily deftly wove them both through the mass of reporters. With a charming smile she told them that her father would gladly talk to them later, after a shave and a meal. She even handed out his business cards.

"Are you mad?" he whispered to her. "My phone will be ringing off the hook!"

"You can turn it off, can't you?" she countered as she whisked him out of the building. "You prefer to stand here and give them what they want right now?"

He barely had time to argue when an Arctic chill assaulted him. His daughter wasn't kidding when she said it was cold.

"Taxi," he decided, flagging the first one he saw in the hospital driveway. He nudged Emily into it. "Bring us to a hotel. Any hotel. Preferably not too far from here."

And that's where they were now, sitting in a bright hotel room with two double beds, digging into two massive room service orders that Emily had taken care of after she turned the heat on to maximum. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he saw the rotisserie chicken, the French fries, the stir-fried vegetables and salmon all spread out in front of them. Its smell filled the room.

"Good call," Cal acknowledged, digging into it.

Emily sat cross-legged on the bed and helped him out.

His phone kept ringing throughout their meal and Cal kept ignoring it.

"Maybe you should at least look at who's calling," she suggested.

She had a point. He had given the hospital his number. Told them call if anything changed with Gillian and he was still waiting for a call back from her mother.

He took the first call that came through.

"Doctor Lightman?"

"Yeah..."

"Did you not get my messages?"

Why did this call sound familiar?

"Who is this?"

"Doctor Philips with the APA."

Cal frowned. "I said you'll get back your bloody advance."

"It's not about that, Dr. Lightman."

"Then what?"

"The APA conference ends tomorrow. The organizing committee discussed this since I spoke with you. Although we currently have Dr. Suarez on the agenda, we'd like to change that. We'd like you to be our closing speaker."

"What?"

"This train...the Ebola Train. It's the biggest news story in the country right now. That we have a speaker here with us, that was _on that train_...that could share his experience in a psychological light. It would be an incredible opportunity for all of us in this field. It would be _the _lecture of the conference. There wouldn't be an empty seat in the house."

"I just got out of the hospital..." he said incredulously. How could he give speech about the whole thing when he was still living it? While his best friend was still fighting for her life? What the hell kind of wisdoms could he possibly have to offer?

"I know it's a lot to ask...and we'll understand if you're not up for it. But hearing your take on it, that is, your professional opinion, it would be an invaluable experience for all our colleagues. Naturally your speaker's fee would be raised from the one we offered earlier, should you accept."

"How much?"

"We'd be willing to triple it."

"I see..." Cal stared at Emily who was popping a French fry into her mouth. "I can't give you an answer right now."

"We need to know as soon as possible."

"I'll call you back," was all he said before ending the call.

"What's up?" Emily asked.

"They want me to be the closing speaker for the APA conference tomorrow. To talk about being on that train."

She raised her brows, as if thinking about the idea. "You'd have to shave and put on a suit."

"It's settled then." Cal announced. "A definite no."

"Are they giving you a lot of money for it?"

"So they say."

"You should do it then," she declared with all the certainty of youth.

Cal slouched down into the sofa chair that was in one corner of the room. He stared at the food that was spread out on room service trays, on top of Emily's bed. He suddenly lost his appetite. "I can't stand there in front of a room full of bloody academics and speak objectively about the psychological effects of this whole twisted experience..."

"Who says you have to be objective?"

"I haven't got it in me, Em."

"All you ever talk about lately is raising money for a new company, a new Lightman Group. And now you're turning it down?"

"Not like this..."

"You can't do it because Gillian's still so sick?"

Cal eyed her, wanting to lie. Knowing it was pointless. Even as a kid she'd seen through so many of the little white lies that both him and her mother had told her. Just as she'd also seen through the tension between them and had probably know before either of them that their marriage was doomed to fail.

His daughter was also the only one who knew that his feelings for his best friend ran deeper than he'd admit to anyone else.

"Yeah..." he admitted.

"Gillian would be the first person who'd want you to do it, you know."

Cal frowned. He wasn't so sure about that.

"It's why she put up with you all these years," Emily went on, undeterred. "Because she knows that you can do so much good with the skills that you have. Because the Lightman Group helped so many people. She'd want you to do that again."

"She told you all that, did she?"

Emily grinned. "Nah...she didn't have to. I just know. If you weren't my dad that would be my reason for putting up with you."

His daughter got up and moved to sit on the chair's arm rest, leaning into him. She handed him a drumstick. "Since when do I have to tell you twice that there's food?"

Cal ate it in a few quick bites. Not because he was hungry but because he knew he needed the sustenance.

"You said Gillian doesn't have a lot of hope when it comes to this thing."

"I did," he agreed, reaching to the trays for a fork and a stick of broccoli.

"Then give her some. Give her a reason to beat this thing."

Cal looked at her. Was everything really that simple when you were nineteen? "Any suggestions, luv?"

"Tell her you love her."

Cal almost choked.

"This is_ not_ the time for that." He wasn't sure whether it would ever be the right time. Besides, Gillian had only just re-entered his life. Getting her to stay in it was his first priority. Not pushing her away. "Before this train ride from hell...I hadn't even heard from her in the last two years."

"So things have changed? You don't love her anymore?"

"Christ...Em. Knock it off."

"Just asking. Did she happen to say why she disappeared for two years? It's not like you're the only one who missed her, you know."

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no? Can you be any more cryptic?"

"Alec died."

Emily stopped picking at the salmon on her plate. "Oh..." She looked at him, unsure what to say.

"In Gillian's arms, in India." Cal added.

Emily swallowed, her young face pensive. "She's lost a lot in the last few years then. Can't blame her for not feeling like she has much to fight for."

Cal stopped eating too. Emily had a point. A daughter, a husband, a job and a company, a friend. It was a lot to lose. What _was_ there left to fight for?

There had to be something tangible he could give her.

"I have an idea, Dad," Emily said.

"No grand proclamations of love, alright, darling."

"Well, if this doesn't cut it, then yeah, you're stuck with that," Emily grinned. "That's all I have left after that. But..." She got up, brushed food crumbs off her jeans and grabbed his hands, pulling him up off the chair. "Okay, how about this..."


	17. Chapter 17

Once again, giant thanks to GDA for proofreading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada_

They stopped at a department store first, to buy Cal some clothing. Then they went straight to the nearest print shop and spent three hours there until Emily was satisfied.

"This one's perfect," she told the indifferent red-head behind the counter, pointing to the third design. "It's modern without being the kind of modern that'll look dated in a few years from now. It's timeless."

Cal Lightman looked that design in question and nodded his head. Truth was he had no clue what modern yet timeless entailed but he had to agree. That one did look the best out of the three.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's the one we want."

The red-head barely made eye contact. "Five hundred, one thousand or fifteen hundred?"

Cal squinted. "What?"

She repeated the numbers to him. Her voice so monotone he thought she just hit a replay button somewhere. It was rare that Cal met a face so completely unreadable. So completely devoid of any emotion. He wondered if her expression would change if he suddenly dropped dead in front of her.

"I just need _one_," he told her.

"Minimum order is five hundred."

Emily cheerfully leaned in over the counter. "We'll take five hundred. One box."

Cal stared at her.

"You going to need them in the future anyway," she reminded him.

"Alright..." Cal gave the woman a credit card. "When will they be ready?"

"One hour."

Emily smiled. "Perfect. We'll wait right here."

Cal sighed. What other options were there? Go for a stroll and catch frostbite?

"Right then...what she said."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

They sat in a taxi with Emily holding the box of cards in her lap on their way to the hospital.

"You know this means you should really give the speech tomorrow."

"Why?"

"You need the money even more now."

Cal made a face. "Did I ever tell you that you're more like your mother every day?"

"Mom always tells me I'm more like you every day."

He chuckled. "Bloody well hope not. For both our sakes."

Once they got there, Cal went into the hospital gift shop and bought a get-well card. He barely read the clichéd sentiments inside. They didn't really matter. What mattered was what he was putting into the card.

"Can I borrow a pen?" he asked the lady behind the cash, who handed him a cheap, plastic Bic.

Cal didn't have to think about what to write. For once putting words onto paper came easily.

Emily stood next to him and pulled out a card from the box she was holding.

"Thanks." Cal slipped it inside the get-well card and sealed the envelope by licking it.

"Can I come with you to see her?" Emily asked him.

"There are two other people that have a VHF in the room. I don't think you should take that risk..."

"I thought you said it can only be transmitted by an exchange of bodily fluids. They wouldn't let in visitors if it wasn't safe, would they?"

Cal eyed her, wanting to put his foot down. Even the slightest risk was too high in his books. But she was an adult now, Cal reminded himself. Being an adult meant having the right to decide what risks to take. Much as he hated it.

"Alright...but you have to understand, Gillian doesn't look so great right now. I don't want her to see the shock on your face...you know she's almost as good as reading people as I am...she'll know it, even if you hide it."

"I get it, Dad," she told him with a look of indignation. "I'm not an idiot. I just wanted to tell her I missed her."

"It would be a natural reaction, luv."

Emily frowned. "So you're saying I'm a lousy liar?"

"That's not an insult."

They took an elevator up to the floor where the three remaining VHF patients were. Cal felt goose bumps when he saw a light lit up near the entrance of their room and two doctors rushing inside.

Cal quickened his pace towards the room. "What's going on?" he demanded of the first nurse he saw.

"They're dealing with a situation in there..."

Cal's heart sank and he barely noticed that Emily had caught up to him.

_We're too late. _

"What situation?" he managed to croak out.

"Sverre Aarhus is hemorrhaging severely."

"_Who_?" It took a second for Cal to realize they had to have been talking about the Norwegian woman's boyfriend. That he didn't even know his name. But aside from Brandon and Gillian he was the only other patient in there.

Cal exhaled a silent sigh of relief.

He looked into the room and because of the curtains drawn around the Norwegian man's bed he couldn't see exactly what was going on. There were at least four doctors in there with him. That much Cal could gauge judging from the number of feet he saw peaking out from underneath the curtain.

"What's going on, Dad?" Emily asked.

Cal stared into the room. Gillian was wearing the oxygen mask again and her eyes were closed. It didn't look like she was aware of what was going on.

'Thank god,' he thought. The last thing she needed was to see another person dying of this thing. Right next to her.

While he could understand the need to keep this illness contained, he couldn't for the life of him understand why they didn't separate the patients. Seeing their roommates drop off one by one had to be doing a number on their psyches.

Brandon was alert enough to stare in the direction of the curtained-off bed next to him.

Cal didn't need to be an expert at reading faces to recognize the sheer terror in his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Later<em>

They watched as the doctors wheeled the dead body out of the room.

Even though Emily didn't know the Norwegian, the sight made her cry.

Cal knew she was crying because of what his death implied. It meant there still wasn't anyone who had recovered from this. That it would only be a matter of time before...

Cal pushed that chilling thought from his mind and nudged his daughter over to the waiting area. He sat with her, his arms draped over her bony shoulders in silence, until she stopped. Cal handed her a tissue and then he gave her another gentle nudge.

"Do me a favour, luv?"

Emily nodded. Her eyes still red and moist. "Sure..."

"There's a place that sells tea in the lobby of the hospital. Go and get me one."

"You're going to see Gillian after you get rid of me, aren't you?"

He couldn't help a smile. "Yes."

Her lips trembled and he thought she might cry again and suddenly she reminded him more of the teenager that he once knew so well rather than the adult who'd flown here to see him. "Maybe it's time to tell her you love her...screw the card."

Cal's smile widened. "You giving up, already? You're worse than Gill." He wrapped his arms around her in a hug and kissed her wet cheek. "Not a chance, luv. There'll be lots of time for that in the future. One night when she and I have a dinner together with too much wine, my loose lips will let it slip completely against my will."

There was a lop-sided smile on her face. "You're hopeless, Dad."

Cal watched her go and took a deep breath before putting on his scrubs, isolation gown, mask and gloves. He hated the get-up. He'd stayed next to Gillian at the onset of the illness without any protective gear and hadn't caught it then.

But if that's what it took to get into the room.

Once inside, he pulled up a chair next to her bed, taking her hand in his own. The sight of the darkening rashes along her arms toyed with his emotions. On his own hairy, tattooed arms they wouldn't look nearly as bad but on hers...

Gillian didn't respond to his touch and he gently rubbed her arm and spoke to her for some time before she finally opened her eyes.

He mustered a smile. She looked so much weaker than last time he'd been here. But one of the doctors had told him that the side effects of the ribavirin and its companion drug were often almost as bad as the illness. Cal hoped that's all it was. That at least it meant it was working.

She managed to push the mask from her face so she could talk to him. Part of him wanted to stop her.

_Talking to me isn't worth making things harder for you._

But he caught the happiness in her eyes, telling him that maybe he was wrong. At least she was still lucid. Wasn't on a ventilator yet, like the Norwegian had been shortly before...

"You still haven't shaved," she pointed out, interrupting his morbid thoughts.

"Might have to do it tomorrow," he told her. "They asked me to be the closing speaker for the APA conference."

"Are they crazy?"

"I'll be the one speech in my career where no one throws anything. Promise."

"Don't start by..." She paused to catch her breath. "Telling them that they're a bunch of closed-minded plonkers. Didn't work so well last time."

He smiled at the memory of his last big speech, years ago, just after he'd left the Pentagon and tried to market his science. He thought of the pencil case someone had flung in his direction, missing his head by mere millimetres. At the indignant looks he got from the moderator every time Cal compared a distinguished member of the audience to a cannibal he'd met in Papua New Guinea.

They'd nearly jeered him off the stage.

But it was the moments afterwards that were etched most firmly in his memory.

The bar he'd dragged Gillian to in an attempt to appease her anger with him. The form-fitting, sleeveless black dress she'd worn on that hot summer night. The way its edges rose up along her gorgeous legs when she slid onto the barstool. Her smile lighting up her eyes when, three drinks later, her anger had finally defused.

_"You realize we'll never get funding now," she'd let him know with an inebriated giggle. "Ever. We're going to run this thing out of a basement."_

_"The Lightman Group won't even have proper lighting." _

_Gillian had giddily raised another glass to toast him. "To your exceptional inability to be anything but a pain in the ass. Even when standing in front of three-hundred esteemed Harvard academics." _

_He'd clinked his glass with hers. "To your exceptional ability of looking beyond that and deciding to sit here next to me in spite of it." _

"Sound advice," he agreed with her, his mind back in the present. "No name calling until after the speech."

"Cal..."

Her hand reached for his and this time her grip had absolutely no strength.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For the last two years. For...leaving without a word. For not even saying why. It's a lousy thing for a friend to do. You deserved better than that...wanted you to know...that I'm sorry."

The apology that he didn't need took more energy out of her than she had, making him feel guilty. It took effort to keep his voice level. "You can buy me dinner to make up for it when you get out of here."

"Deal."

He saw what she was doing and he hated it. Making amends. Just in case. Wanting to make sure he knew what mattered to her.

As if he didn't know already.

"Hey..." Her blue eyes met his. "Not what you think. Not giving up."

They sometimes talked about the hard time he had reading her. Maybe the conversations really should've been about how easily she could read him. "Good. We already agreed it's not acceptable. Especially not now that you owe me dinner."

She had a hard time keeping her eyes open, but he thought he caught a smile in them.

"Jerk."

Her eyelids closed not long after, but he sat there anyway. Until the nurse kicked him out.

When he saw Emily outside, the tea she brought him was cold.

"Did you give her the card?"

He shook his head. Gillian could barely keep her eyes open, never mind read anything. "Tomorrow, " he told Emily, who gave him a sceptical look.

Truth was he wasn't sure whether he'd ever get around to giving it to her. Whether it wasn't too late already.

Cal put an arm around his daughter's shoulder's, trying to focus on her. Trying to ignore the feelings of utter helplessness that made him want to punch the walls that surrounded them.

* * *

><p><em>APA Conference, Winnipeg <em>

_The next day _

It was the first time in his life that he gave a speech without a minute's worth of preparation. The first time he didn't feel like he was banging his head against a wall trying to make others understand the validity of a science he'd spent the bulk of his life working on.

It wasn't so much a speech as it was a re-telling of events.

From the impulse decision to buy the train ticket to watching the Canadian musician bleed to death in front of him. About getting so sick so fast he thought he might die himself. He spoke about the fear and terror on that train. But mostly about the courage of those that did what they could in spite of it all. The ones like Brandon and Gillian who were still paying the price. He even found a few kind words for the two American doctors. Because Cal was certain whoever that someone at USAMRIID would see or hear this speech sooner rather than later.

When it was done he stared into the audience, noticing that heavy silence blanketed the room. The large convention hall was packed and there wasn't an empty seat in the house.

Yet it was so quiet he could have heard a pin drop.

Cal caught a woman wiping tears from her eyes and then a man next to her stood up to clap. Followed by another one, then another...until the entire room was on its feet.

A rousing standing ovation.

He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. It was an unrehearsed speech, almost completely devoid of scientific content and he'd brought the room to its feet.

Cal grinned in disbelied, almost tempted to take a photo with his phone. For future evidence.

_You're never going to believe this. Never._

He spotted Emily in the audience, taking a photo for him.

His smile widened. 'That's my girl.'

Everyone wanted to see him when it was over. Wanted a piece of him and demanded for more details than he'd already divulged. It wasn't until several hours later. Long after he'd stuck Emily into a taxi back to the hotel, that he'd finally extricated himself from the crowd.

Cal stepped outside into the ice cold winter alone, craving some fresh air.

He couldn't have been outside for more than a minute when his phone rang.

"Dr. Lightman?"

"Yeah..."

"This is Doctor Kwan from the Winnipeg HSC."

"What is it?" Cal had spoken to the man several times. He was the man in charge of caring for all the VHF patients. Cal could picture his chubby cheeks, receding hairline and his thick, dark glasses.

"I'm afraid I have bad news..."


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks to all those still reading this fic and, once again, giant thanks to GDA, my awesome and patient proof reader. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

The words didn't quite sink in.

Not even now. Several long moments after he'd ended the call and stood alone outside in the cold. Dumbfounded.

Snippets of the conversation echoed in his mind.

_"...lost consciousness this morning...the unexpected downturn took us by surprise...it's a likely possibility that she won't regain...suggest you might want to come..." _

"No," Cal Lightman said aloud to no one, seeing his breath in the icy air. Cars sped by and some of their occupants stared at him standing on the sidewalk. Probably because he wasn't moving. Wasn't wearing anything more than a suit jacket.

He was starting to shiver violently in the cold while at the same time he was oblivious to it.

_"She lost consciousness this morning." _

How was that possible? He'd spoken to her only just last night. He'd caught a smile in her eyes. She'd called him a jerk and reminded him she wasn't giving up.

Or was that a lie?

Gillian used to be such a lousy liar.

Her voice rang in his ears.

_"Depends on the lie."_

And he was so impeccable at spotting them.

_"Depends on the lie."_

"Damn it, Gill...how could you?"

Anger took hold of him now and it started washing over the shock. Over the cold.

Gillian Foster had lied to him. She'd been too ill to have a real conversation, yet she'd deceived the best lie detector in the world with enviable ease.

_"How the hell could you give up? How am I supposed to..."_

The ice-cold air swallowed his words, leaving them unspoken.

Cal tugged at his tie and yanked it open, feeling as though he was suffocating. Bunching the blue silk fabric in his fist, he hailed the first taxi he saw.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

The word 'hospital' was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't get it out.

There wasn't a lot Cal couldn't handle. Not once he steeled himself for it. It was why he had no qualms telling others to grow a pair when they clearly needed a reminder. Because he knew he could handle whatever life threw his way.

And in the times that he couldn't, he was able to fake it well enough.

Not this time.

One thing he couldn't handle was seeing Gillian Foster die.

"Hey," the cab driver repeated. "Where to? Meter's ticking."

Cal stared at the man's face in the rear view mirror. "Where do you take people that have nowhere to go?"

The driver flashed him a gap-toothed smile. "Casino."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

He started off at the bar.

Three scotch on the rocks later he was still there, next to a dark haired woman who was now openly flirting with him.

"You're a lie detector?" She giggled. "What kind of a job is that?"

That had been the start of their conversation almost an hour ago. By now he'd long established a baseline and they played a game of 'guess the lie'.

Even as the alcohol was starting to take effect, she was an easy mark.

"I'm 39."

_Darlin', I don't even need to read micro-expressions to know that's a lie._

"Lie."

"I have two children."

"Truth."

"I'm divorced."

"Truth."

"I like nice men with red hair."

Cal chuckled. "Lie."

"I was born in Wyoming."

"Truth."

"My favourite colour is red."

"Lie."

"Wow...you are good." She took a long sip of her own drink, before fumbling for her lighter. Cal wanted to take it to light the cigarette that was now in her manicured fingers, but she stopped him. "Not in here," she told him. "Those anti-smoking Nazis will bite our heads off."

He clinked his glass with hers. "To the good old days then."

"I have a tattoo of a sexual position on my lower back..." she went on and Cal wasn't sure whether she was still playing the game or not.

He raised his brows. "That's...the truth."

She licked the salt off the rim of her glass with her tongue. "I'd like to show it to you sometime."

Cal smiled. "Also true."

She finished her drink and straightened her skirt after she slid off the barstool. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back after I have a smoke outside."

Cal was about to order a fourth drink when he saw a light blinking from the phone in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the text messages on the screen.

-Dad where r u? still at the conference? it's been hours.

There were two missed calls too. From the hospital.

He'd lost track of time again. It was becoming a habit this past week.

Cal swallowed, hating the bitterness he felt in his throat, not sure whether it was from the scotch or the guilt that was tightening around his neck like a noose.

His daughter had flown here from California to make sure he was alright and here he was chatting up a stranger at a bar and getting drunk.

Gillian was dying and he couldn't work up the nerve to be by her side.

He swallowed again. The guilt was so heavy now it felt like a coat of bricks that was weighing him down. He could barely move. It threatened to smother him.

He knew he was a coward who didn't deserve either of them. Not Emily. Not Gillian.

Even the tattooed, cigarette smoking stranger whose name he didn't know, deserved more than he could possibly offer.

Cal threw down three American twenty dollar bills, hoping it would cover both their drinks. Before he pushed himself away from the bar.

He saw the red lights of a bank machine and walked towards it, sticking in a bank card and taking out as much as he could in one go. The crisp, green Canadian bills felt strange in his hands. As though they weren't real. Play money.

It was fitting because nothing felt real just then.

Not the clanging noise of the slot machines around him. Or the phone that was ringing again in his pocket.

Or the most absurd, unreal thing of all.

_Gillian dying. _

Cal veered towards the first roulette table he saw and bought as many chips as he could with his pile of coloured bills.

The maximum bet was one hundred at a time. This wasn't exactly the high-roller section at a Vegas casino.

So that's what he bet. Five chips at a time. On double zero.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Three more times.

A white-haired man standing next to him, looked at him in disbelief. "Slow down, son. That's six hundred you lost in minutes."

Cal didn't give a damn. It didn't mean a thing. Sure, it was money he didn't have to spend. But money was the least of the things he wanted that he couldn't have.

There was compassion in the man's face. Cal decided that was one more thing he didn't deserve. The kindness of a stranger.

"Lemme buy you a drink," the old man offered. "Sit out a round and consider betting on something other than double zero."

"Mind your own business," Cal barked back.

Three more spins. Another three hundred dollars gone.

There was sadness in the old man's face when he looked at Cal now. Cal grabbed a drink from the waitress and threw down one of his chips onto the tray she carried.

Then he placed the last four chips down on double zero. There was an audience watching him now. Watching the possessed man with the English accent betting on double zero and losing every single time.

He finished his drink in seconds and wanted to order another one. He was starting to feel intoxicated now. Finally. Took long enough.

His phone was ringing again.

Cal pulled it from his pocket and somehow found the guts to answer it.

The roulette wheel was spinning and he tried to focus on it. The clicking sounds the ball made as it whirled around the inside of the wheel.

_No matter who it is or what they say...focus on the wheel. The ball. The numbers. The colours. _

All of them were spinning together now. One blurry mess in his line of vision.

"Dr. Lightman, we've been trying to reach you..."

It was the same doctor from the hospital who'd called him earlier. And turned his world upside down.

_Focus. Focus. Focus. _

He who liked his truth straight up couldn't handle it this time. He needed the numbing effects of alcohol, coupled with all the distractions in the world for this truth.

The little white ball landed on 23.

"What is it?" Cal's voice sounded far away and hollow in his ears. It sounded as though it didn't belong to him anymore.

"It's about Doctor Foster..."

"Yeah..." The lump in his throat was so enormous he could barely breathe.

The crowd that had gathered around the roulette table was staring at him. Staring at the mad man who'd just bet a thousand dollars and couldn't even be bothered to concentrate on the game. Who suddenly decided to answer his phone instead. He was quite the spectacle.

"An hour ago. She regained consciousness and her fever broke."

"What?" Cal's foggy, intoxicated brain struggled to make sense of the words. His ears were ringing and he felt light-headed.

"Doctor Lightman, can you hear me? There's a lot of noise in the background..."

_She regained consciousness. Her fever broke. _

"Yeah..." He still tried to piece the news together. "Her fever broke? Isn't that..._good_ _news_?"

"It is, Dr. Lightman...it's unbelievable news!" It was the most enthusiasm he'd heard from the Chinese-Canadian doctor. "It's also completely unexpected given her earlier downturn. I dare say it's an incredibly positive sign." He paused. "I've been trying to reach you. I thought you'd want to know. Maybe come to the hospital to see her."

"Yeah...I do. Thank you." Cal ran a hand over his face after he ended the call, fighting back the sudden urge to cry. Needing a release for everything he felt right now.

The white-haired man looked at him with sympathy. "Sorry, son. Can't win all the time, can we?"

Cal laughed. Relief flooded him with an intensity that took his breath away.

"Are you okay, son?" The man looked at him with concern, not understanding. "You realize you just lost a grand on that table?"

Cal couldn't stop laughing. "Lost? Are you kidding me...I haven't lost. You have no idea how much I won." He was just drunk and giddy enough that he wanted to throw his arms around the old man and kiss him. "You...are looking at the luckiest bloody person in this entire casino tonight!"


	19. Chapter 19

As usual, giant thanks to my proof reader, GDA!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

"I don't want to wake her," Emily Lightman whispered to her father. She'd insisted on coming to the hospital to see Gillian before leaving.

"She'll kick my butt if I tell her you were here but didn't wake her to say hi to you."

Emily grinned. "Then don't tell her. You're good at lying."

"Hey..."

Emily wrinkled her nose. "Are you still going to give it to her?"

"You think that now that she's recovering, I should toss it?"

"No..." she shot back and then paused, reconsidering. "But...it's up to you. You have to want it too."

Cal smiled and put an arm around her. "Come on, let me take you to the airport."

"You're not going to tell me what you're going to do with it?" she asked indignantly.

"No."

Emily shook her head as she grabbed hold of her bright suitcase. "You're impossible. You don't deserve my brilliant ideas." She craned her neck towards the bed where Gillian was sleeping. "He loves you, you know. He's totally crazy about you!"

"Hey!"

Emily laughed as Cal pushed her out the door.

* * *

><p><em>The next day <em>

For the first two days she mostly slept.

Had the doctor not told him that was to be expected, he might've worried that she wasn't really recovering at all.

_"This isn't a cold or the flu, Doctor Lightman. Full recovery from a VHF can take anywhere from two to four weeks. Sleep is the best thing for her right now. It's the first real rest she's had in days. Meanwhile, we'll monitor her condition for the next few days while we taper off the medication and see how she reacts to that." _

_"I see..." _

_"Doctor Lightman...it's incredible she's doing as well as she is. No one else has come this close to a recovery. You're going to need to be patient." _

Cal remembered nodding in agreement. He didn't care if she spent the next week sleeping if that's what she needed.

Patience wasn't his strong suit. It was one more thing he'd have to learn this week.

Gillian was sleeping next to him now when his phone flashed a new message. It came from a phone number he didn't recognize. The caller ID said A. Pirelli and the message was short.

-Eleanor passed away this morning. Will miss her very much. Hope Gillian beats this

Cal didn't know what to say. Two words were all he could think of.

-I'm sorry

Meanwhile, Brandon was the only one left in the treatment room and from what he'd heard his condition had taken a turn for the worse.

Cal exhaled as his eyes drifted back to her.

"Take as much time as you need, luv. I'll handle the patience part."

_The next day_

It was his snoring that woke her.

Gillian turned her head and saw him wedged into a chair, one leg slung over an armrest and a loose arm hanging over the backrest. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with his snoring.

She pushed herself off the bed to get a better look, marvelling at how he was able to sleep like that.

She wondered why he_ was_ sleeping here, why he wasn't in his bed at the hotel room he'd told her he'd booked here.

After all, she wasn't in critical condition any more, was she? Sleeping in someone's room was what you did when you worried they might not make it through the night, wasn't it?

Gillian felt her heart race.

She still couldn't quite grasp why she was the one on the road to recovery. _The only one. _

Two days ago she'd been certain that she wasn't going to make it. Two days ago she could barely breathe. Could barely find the strength to open her eyes to look at him. And everything hurt so much she thought she couldn't stand it anymore.

When just for a moment she did let her guard down, she remembered her world going dark and cold.

She'd lost consciousness for over an hour the doctors later told her. They feared for the worst and instead, that same day, she'd taken them all by surprise.

Granted, she still felt as though she'd been run over by a truck. Still didn't have the energy for much of anything. Still hurt all over.

But the sheer intensity of it all was gone. She could breathe comfortably on her own now. The IVs were gone since yesterday. She could eat and manage to keep it down. Some of it even tasted good.

She'd even insisted on taking the liberating steps away from the bed to the bathroom on her own. Even though that insistence left her dizzy and lightheaded and completely winded.

But at least the fever that had had clouded her mind and made her feel as though she spent the last few days in a sauna, was finally gone.

Gillian thought of the others who'd come down with this. The young nurse. The old musician she didn't have to courage to face. The young Norwegian couple she barely knew. Eleanor Bennett. Brandon, the VIA Rail kid, as Cal called him, who had his whole life in front of him. None of them had shown signs of recovery from what she'd heard.

_Why me? _

She suddenly felt cold and alone and indescribably sad.

Gillian hugged herself. Survivor's Guilt. Professionally she was well acquainted with it. Had even treated an employee at the Pentagon once; the lone member of his family that survived a horrific car crash. Whose guilt was so strong he drowned it in so much alcohol he nearly killed himself too.

But she'd never imagined going through it. Never thought she could feel quite so overwhelmed.

She wiped away a tear from her face when she noticed that Cal had stopped snoring.

He was wide-awake now, still stuck in his awkward position, hazel eyes staring in her direction.

"Do I look that bad I'm making you cry?"

She smiled a lop-sided smile. "No."

Cal groaned as he got up, stretching himself before moving to sit down next to her.

"What's wrong, luv?" He asked with a gentleness she wasn't used to from him. "Are you in pain?"

"No...it's okay," Gillian shook her head. "How's Brandon?"

Cal frowned. "Not so good."

Gillian looked at him. "How is it possible that I'm the only one recovering from this?"

"I don't know," he answered her, truthfully. "But I'm not complaining."

Gillian wondered whether it was too good to be true for her too. Whether this was just a tease and in a day or so the fever would come back with a vengeance and along with it that indescribable sense of losing all control over her own life.

The thought terrified her. Another tear fell down her face, against her will.

"Hey, come on...it's going to be okay."

One of Cal's arms was around her now and she wondered why it was that when she was supposed to be feeling relief all she felt was guilt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Nah...don't be," he told her. "You went through hell this week. Better let it out now than have nightmares two months down the road."

She eyed him as she wiped away her tears. "Since when are you the shrink?"

"I have my moments."

"That you do."

He held her a little closer still and she felt herself relaxing in his embrace.

"Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Gillian debated the offer, wishing he could somehow change the way she felt.

"I'd love a shower," she told him instead. She yearned to stand underneath a cascade of warm, soapy water. To wash off the scent of disease and medication and hospital antiseptics that seemed to have settled permanently in her nostrils.

"Think you're ready for that?" he asked, his expression doubtful. "The walk to the restroom almost knocked you out last night," he reminded her.

"Maybe not," she admitted.

"Or maybe with a little help?" he suggested.

"You'll find someone to give me a hand?"

"Hospital help?" He pretended to be offended. "What am I? Chopped liver? Besides they have seats in the showers here."

"Cal?" She looked at him sceptically. Had a sudden vision of him next to her in the shower. A vision that just so happened to make her heart beat a little faster.

He got up to grab the bathrobe he bought her yesterday.

It was red and pink and covered in guinea-pigs wearing skis, and Gillian was certain it was payback for something or other. Maybe for the cartoon band-aids she'd stuck on one of his paper cuts once.

_"Can't have you traipsing around in my knee length t-shirts," he'd told her last night. "Or worse, those ghastly hospital gowns, if you're going to insist on taking walks." _

_"Where did you get all this?" she'd asked. "In some children's clothing section?" _

_"Of course," he'd shot back. "You're small enough that they fit you and they're cheaper." _

He draped it around her now, over the huge Mickey Mouse t-shirt she wore. Another purchase from the same store section, no doubt.

"Come on," he took hold of her arm and helped her stand up.

The world still spun around her when she got up and she was grateful for the hold that Cal had on her. It was firm and secure.

She looked down at her feet. "Really, Cal? Barney the Dinosaur slippers?"

"They were on sale." He grinned. "You look adorable."

The restroom and shower were at the far end of the room. A room she had all to herself because the two patients that should have joined her last night had relatives that protested after learning she was one of the VHF patients from the Ebola train.

_"Thank god for paranoia," Cal had told her yesterday. "It gives you the unprecedented luxury of a private room in a Canadian hospital." _

The first thing she saw after Cal gave her a nudge into the restroom was her own ghastly reflection in the mirror. Dark, red rashes still dotted her face and neck and she looked as though she lost over ten pounds in the last week.

"God, I look awful..." she mumbled. "Like someone in a horror movie."

"New job potential," Cal quipped. "Extra in zombie films."

"Thanks."

"Have to hurry up though," he reminded her. "The doctor said they'll fade in a couple of weeks."

He turned on the shower, waiting until the water was just the right temperature.

"You can sit in there," he motioned her to the built-in seat.

Gillian didn't want to sit. She didn't want water weakly trickling over her body. She wanted strong, hot streams of it to hit her face the moment it came out of the showerhead.

"I'm okay to stand," she told him.

He shook his head. "Don't be stubborn."

"Really," she insisted.

Cal helped take off her bathrobe and kicked off his shoes. He gave her a gentle push into the stream of water, still wearing her Mickey Mouse t-shirt. "Fine then...if you insist on being bloody difficult."

There was a grin on his face as he tossed off his own t-shirt but kept on his jeans as he followed her into the shower.

Gillian laughed. "You are completely crazy."

"Thank you very much."

The warm water quickly soaked her t-shirt and it felt so good on her skin that she closed her eyes wanting it to last forever. To wash away everything that happened this week.

When she opened them again, she saw that he was smiling at her as the water soaked him too.

It was her weakness; that smile. It was impossible to stay angry at him when she saw it. Even in moments when he deserved her anger.

One of his hands was still firmly on her arm as the water cascaded down his face, little rivulets running down along the creases. She liked the many lines on his face. The way they deepened when he was pensive or when he smiled. She fought back a sudden, irrational urge to run her fingers along them.

Gillian was convinced that every line on his face told a story and she regretted knowing she was only part of some of them. Even if that already put her ahead of most of the people in his life.

How was it that she never felt more comfortable in her skin than when she was around Cal Lightman?

She trusted the hold he had on her too. He might not be tall or muscular but he had a wiry strength that wouldn't let her fall. Literally or otherwise.

"You're standing awfully close," she pointed out, fighting back another urge that came out of nowhere. Making her smile. Because this one involved her lips on his.

Everything about Cal Lightman was raw and intense. Uninhibited.

They'd probably kill each other if they ever dared to take the next step. Dared for something more than friendship.

_But physically..._

Gillian smiled. It would be good. _Really_ good. She had no doubts. None.

She bit her lip. Hard. Blinking, before one of his lingering glances had a chance to catch her dilated pupils.

"It's necessary," Cal pointed out, missing it all. Or pretending he did. With the kind of deception skills she could only dream of mastering. His voice pushed the thought from her mind. "I'd hate for you to slip and crack your skull after everything."

"Nice."

"I would..." he said softly, his lips nearly touching her ears. "...move away if I thought you wanted me to."

Gillian knew it was pointless to say she did. He'd know better.

Every fibre of her body told him otherwise.

"I think..." he added with a grin. "You'd do good in a wet t-shirt contest."

Gillian blushed. Apparently there were certain things she couldn't hide at all.

Then she eyed the bruising on her arms and pushed her other thoughts aside for good this time. "Not so sure about that..."

"I am."

She lathered the cheap hospital shampoo in her hands and ran it through her hair. The endless stream of fresh water felt so good against her skin, she closed her eyes and soaked it in.

When she opened them again, she felt that his grip on her had tightened. Saw something she wasn't used to seeing in his eyes when he looked at her. Worry. Fear.

"Shall we call it day, luv?" he said, as the water trickled down his chin, his face half-hidden in the steam now. "You look a few notches paler than when we stepped in here."

Gillian nodded. As good as it felt, she wasn't sure she could keep it up much longer. When had the mere act of standing up ever taken this much effort? But she was certain if she sat down getting up again would be even harder.

Maybe that's what he read in her face. That ridiculous exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her anytime she did anything more than lift her head off the pillow. Maybe that's why she saw fear in his face.

Cal helped her back out and turned his back to her after handing her clean, fresh clothes before changing into dry clothes of his own.

And with a gentle patience that took her by surprise, he grabbed a towel, kneeled down next to her and helped her get dry. Body and limbs first, taking extra care as he deftly towelled off the spots that were still bruised and tender. Then he moved on to her hair, expertly rubbing strands of it between a fresh towel, as though he'd done it for her countless times before, all while she struggled just to keep her eyes open.

Gillian wasn't sure how she made it back to her bed, although she did feel both his arms securely around her by then.

It was his familiar face she looked up at when she was lying down again. Relief and contentment was what she saw there now.

"Feel better?"

The scent of shampoo still lingered in her nose. The tips of her hair were still wet. All of it felt good and clean and fresh. Even the overwhelming sadness she felt earlier wasn't quite so oppressive anymore.

"Yeah..."

Gillian wanted to tell him that he no idea just how much better. But she lost the battle to keep her eyes open before she had the chance.


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks for reading, for taking the time to leave me your feedback, and big thanks to my proof reader, GDA. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

_The next day_

Gillian glanced over to the windowsill, in slight disbelief. "Who _are_ all those flowers from?"

"Me," Cal shot back.

Gillian smirked. She still wore one of the oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirts he'd bought her and he had to fight back the urge to grin whenever he saw it. "Yeah, right. Tell me the truth."

"Alright, just that one," he told her, pointing to the largest bouquet.

"_Definitely _not that one," she told him, seeing right through his lie. "Seriously. Tell me."

Cal chuckled, letting his eyes gaze linger on Gillian for a moment longer. She looked a little better every day. And that thought took him back to a moment on the terrace at their old office.

_Gillian very drunk on his very expensive scotch, staring into the night sky before turning to him and locking those blue eyes with his. She was luminous that night, testing every single ounce of his willpower. _

_"I can't wait until tomorrow," she mumbled. Inebriated but adamantly coherent. _

_"Why what's tomorrow?" _

_"I get better looking every day." _

He knew then he wouldn't be able to use that line again. After that night it was hers. No contest.

Come to think of it, she looked a lot better than yesterday, when she suddenly turned several notches paler after the shower he helped her take.

She'd almost tumbled into his arms on the way back to the bed and one of the nurses had yelled at him afterwards. But Gillian didn't remember much of that and Cal was fine with that.

He wouldn't mind forgetting that god-awful sense of losing her again himself. Even if the look of contentment on her face afterwards almost made it all worth it.

"Those," he said, pointing to the three bouquets on the left. "Are from some bigwigs at the APA."

"The American Psychological Association sent me flowers? _Why?_ I wasn't even going to attend the conference."

"Ah...but you're their golden child now. You had a starring role in my re-telling of the events on the train_ and_ you're one their own. Even more amazing, you're the only one who's beaten this thing. Here I thought I was getting a nice appearance fee. Hate to think what you'll be able to charge at their next conference."

Gillian looked as though she missed half of what he said. She frowned, her expression suddenly sad. "I'm not the only one who beat this thing, Cal. There's another person still fighting for his life in this hospital."

"Brandon," he answered for her.

"I want to go see him."

Cal cringed. It wasn't the first time she was asking.

"The doc says it's not a good idea. Says your immune system is still too weak to risk any sort of exposure. What if the guy sneezes when you're in the room?"

"I'll wear a mask! Like you did."

Cal shook his head. Just the thought made him shudder.

"He needs to see someone who beat this thing. Needs to know it _can _be beaten."

"I'll gladly tellhim."

Gillian rolled her eyes. "Not the same."

"It's reckless and pointless. The guy's barely coherent."

She looked at him and shook her head. "It's not pointless to me._ I_ was barely coherent a few days ago! And he's a kid, Cal! A kid who didn't hesitate to help when it was needed and now he needs someone to help him."

"He might be young, but he's an adult," Cal reminded her. "I'm not letting you go in there."

"_Letting _me?"

The sheer absurdity of having her go back into the treatment room, after what he'd seen her go through. After nearly seeing her die. It made his head want to explode.

"Talk about taking bloody unnecessary risks," he told her.

"Like you coming into my cabin without a mask. Even though you knew I didn't just have the flu."

Cal eyed her. So she'd known all along, from the very start. Even after all this time he was still guilty of underestimating her. "Not the same..." he argued.

"_Exactly _the same," she countered. "But then you always did have different standards for me than you did for yourself."

He looked at her angrily. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Her blue eyes met his with just as much irritation. "During all our time at the Lightman Group...it was always okay for you to push my buttons. To take risks with your life and do the opposite of what I asked you. You did all of that...as often as you wanted, but the _one_ time I did something that pissed you off you were ready to toss our friendship out the window. _That's_ what I mean by double standard."

Cal swallowed. That one hurt. Because it cut deep and because the hurt in her eyes told him she meant every word. "I see..."

"I'm going to see him," she announced with a finality that told him it wasn't up for debate.

Cal tightened his lips. "Fine. You do what you have to, Gill." He grabbed his jacket. "But I'm not sticking around to watch."

* * *

><p><em>Later<em>

It was only when he was outside in the freezing cold that Cal realized he had nowhere to go.

The empty hotel room that would only make him miss Emily again? The casino that had already cost him a grand?

Lightman stuck his hands in his pockets, wishing he'd thought to buy a hat. It was blowing snow in the streets of Winnipeg now and a gust of it hit his face, chilling him to the bone.

Spotting a coffee shop at the end of the block, he hastened towards it.

The wind helped him open the door with a howl and Cal rubbed his hands together when he stepped inside. He ordered tea and a donut and grabbed a seat by the window, watching a handful of parka-clad pedestrians pass by outside.

The card inside his jacket pocket rustled when he sat down. So he pulled it out and put it on the table. The envelope was wrinkled and stained at the edges now and in no condition to give to someone.

_Maybe it's for the best. Maybe the whole thing is asking for trouble. Look how it ended the last time... _

It ended with him alienating everyone around him and losing his best friend in the process.

_You still haven't told me why you didn't call me for two years..._

Cal took a sip of his tea. It was burning hot and it warmed his throat.

He wondered what Gillian was saying to Brandon right now. She'd find the right words, he had no doubts. She was better at this stuff than he was.

Still, the thought of her in that room put another knot in his stomach.

_Don't sneeze, kid. If you do and recover, I'll have to kill you._

He took another sip of his tea. A woman carrying an umbrella walked by outside and a sudden gust of wind turned it inside out. Although he couldn't hear her, Cal knew she was cursing. It made him chuckle.

The anger and frustration he'd carried out of the hospital were dissipating in the warmth of the coffee shop.

_Face it. You're angry at her for being who she is. _

The insistence on seeing Brandon and giving him a straw to clutch on to, was classic Gillian Foster. Right along with the inability to put herself first.

It's why he loved her.

There were plenty of other reasons too, many of them considerably more shallow. But mainly he loved Gillian because she gave a damn, in a world where most people no longer did.

_"You did all of that...as often as you wanted, but the one time I did something that pissed you off you were ready to toss our friendship out the window. That's what I mean by double standard."_

He finished his tea, hating that a bunch of words he'd spewed in a moment of anger and wounded pride, still hurt her now. Years later.

And that he'd done it again, only moments ago at the hospital. Started a fight with her, knowing she was in no shape for one. Knowing she was still hurting. Physically and emotionally.

He knew better, but he still couldn't control himself. Because that's who _he_ was.

It's why Cal didn't think he'd ever be able to tell her he loved her.

Emily thought it was because he was a chicken. That he was afraid of rejection. And even more afraid of commitment. But this time his genius daughter had it all wrong.

He wasn't afraid of rejection, because the truth was he already knew Gillian loved him just as much. Every look and every touch that lingered just a little longer than it should have, only cemented _that _truth. Sure, they had an unwritten agreement not to read each other, but was impossible to turn off something that came as naturally as breathing. Gillian did the same to him and he forgave her for it too.

Nor did the thought of waking up to her face every morning for the rest of this life pump even the slightest bit of fear into his veins. Not in the least. On the contrary; when he did take a moment to think about, it made him want it so badly, he had to force himself to push the thoughts aside.

What did stop him was knowing that he couldn't change who he was.

When it came to Gillian Foster he cared too much.

She drove him crazy because he loved her and he responded by antagonizing her. Testing her. Needing to find a way to justify his warped belief that there was no way someone like her could be with someone like him. Not in the long run anyway.

Seeing her frustration convinced him that he was right. Of course it couldn't possibly work. Every Cal-Lightman-instigated argument was proof positive.

It was madness. The kind of self-destructive madness most shrinks would have a field day with.

Much of the last couple of years at the Lightman Group had been an endless tug-of-war between them.

_I wouldn't let her near. But at the same time I couldn't let her go_. _It was so damn unfair. To both of us. _

It was already starting again. This morning was ample evidence.

He went up to the counter and ordered another tea, taking it back to the same seat again. So he could resume his observations of the outside world. It was easier figuring out others than trying to figure out himself.

It was snowing harder, now that the wind had settled down.

Cal sat there for some time. He even ordered a sandwich, before he finally picked the envelope off the table and stuffed it back into his jacket.

By the time he got back to the hospital, Gillian was back in her room. Asleep. One hand lazily draped over her side.

The visit to see Brandon probably wore her out.

_"Just because she's stubborn and insisting on moving around doesn't mean she's recovered, Dr. Lightman," Dr. Kwan had cautioned him this morning. "The physical symptoms will take at least two weeks to fully subside. We're fortunate as it is that there appears to be no permanent organ damage."_

_"What are you saying?" _

_"I'm saying don't push her. Don't stress her. We still haven't identified this particular viral strain. We still don't know whether there's a chance of a relapse. Which is why we're keeping her here this long. Let's not push our luck."_

_"Alright then..." _

It was one more thing he never fully appreciated. Her resilience.

Cal pulled the card out of his jacket and set it down on her bedside table.

Then he left the room before he gave himself a chance to change his mind.

Maybe he wasn't selfish enough to tell her he loved her. Nor was he selfish enough to let her make the mistake of telling him the same thing.

But he _was _selfish enough to not let her slip out of his life again.


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks for reading, for letting me know what you think, and special thanks to awesome proof reader, GDA.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

_Winnipeg, Canada _

Again he was the first thing she saw when she woke up.

Except this time he wasn't draped over the chair in a cringingly uncomfortable position. He sat with a book in his hands. One that he lowered so that all she saw were his eyes peeking out from behind.

"Morning, luv."

Gillian smiled. "Hi."

She wasn't the least bit surprised to see him here.

Sure, they fought yesterday and she hadn't seen him since he'd stormed out in anger. But Cal's anger never lasted long where she was concerned. Even so, Gillian figured she owed him an apology.

"Cal...about yesterday. Look, I'm sorry. You were worried and the way I reacted, it wasn't fair."

There was no hint of anger on his face this morning. "It's alright. I could've handled your decision better."

"I had to," she tried to explain.

"I know. Still don't agree. But I understand."

She paused and acknowledged his understanding with a slight nod of her head. It was one of the things she loved most about their friendship. They didn't need words. "Thanks."

Something else suddenly occurred to her too then. That she'd taken his presence for granted. Had somehow assumed that his face would be the first thing she'd see every time she woke up. "Cal..."

"What is it?"

"It's been what, over a week now? Since we got here. Don't you...have somewhere you should be, besides babysitting me in a hospital in Canada?"

He debated it for two seconds. "Nah."

"I'm serious," she insisted. "I'm okay now, you know. I'm going to live. I don't want you to feel that you have to stay by my bedside when I'm sure you have things to do...places where you need to be. Work you have to do."

He looked mildly amused. "So you want me to leave?"

"No...I mean. I don't want you to think you_ have_ to stay." She sighed. "God knows I'd love to get out of here, so I don't blame you."

"Gill..." He closed his book and set it aside. "I'm fine. Got nowhere else to be."

She sank back into her pillow. "Okay..." She smirked. "Just don't...make me feel guilty on top of everything else.'

"Is now a good time to mention that you owe me dinner?"

She laughed and the movement worsened the abdominal pain that still bothered her. Gillian didn't think she'd let it show but of course Cal Lightman didn't need more than a micro-expression when he was paying attention.

"Alright, luv?"

"Fine."

Cal raised his brows, his expression asking her why she bothered. Half-offended that she didn't know better.

There were moments, like now, when he looked at her as though she meant the world to him. When seeing her in pain hurt him just as much. It was in moments like this she thought maybe she wasn't such a fool for loving him. That maybe, _just maybe_, the two of them actually stood a chance.

_Except for every moment like this, there are three others where Cal Lightman gets under my skin just because he knows he can. Because, for reasons I couldn't begin to understand... he needs to see how far he can push me. _

_He makes me so angry then. _

_Angry at him for what he does to me. Angry at myself for letting him. _

Cal pushed his chair over so it was next to her. "I know you're still hurting..." The tone of his voice let her know he meant it. That he didn't need her to be stoic. "You've been tough as hell this past week. So if you feel like whining, complaining, throwing things...I'd say you're overdue."

She gave him a lop-sided smile. Gillian wasn't sure she had it in her to do all that, even if she wanted to. It wasn't her style. "I'll be okay. Really."

He held up a paper bag with the name of a coffee shop on it. "Half a chocolate chip cookie?"

Gillian shook her head. "No, thanks."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Well now you're just scaring me. Let me get the doctor..."

She grabbed his shirt with her fingers, bunching the fabric in her hand. Stopping him. "Funny."

"Gill..."

"You still haven't told me who the rest of the flowers are from," she cut him off, wanting to change the conversation. To get her mind off feeling sore and sick.

"You're deflecting."

"Tell me," she insisted.

"Alright," he complied pointing to a small bouquet of daisies. "Those... are from my whimsical daughter."

Gillian smiled, pleased with herself for guessing it right. "I thought they might be. I still hate that you didn't wake me to say bye to her when she was here...I'll have to find a way to make it up to her."

"Right... next then," pointing to a bouquet of mixed greens and exotic white lilies. "Those are from Torres."

"Torres?" She looked at him not quite understanding. "How does she know I'm here? I haven't spoken to her in a few months now." Gillian thought back to the last time they'd met up for a coffee. It was just before Ria had been given a promotion, and with it a boatload of new responsibilities, keeping her so busy they'd barely had a chance for a quick hello on the phone.

"I told her."

"You've been in touch with her?"

"Yeah..."

Gillian eyed him, letting him know she caught something. "Cal?"

"I asked her to help me find out about Karl and Eleanor," he admitted. "Since I couldn't do it myself from a hospital quarantine room."

"And?" Gillian probed, she'd asked him twice already about the American doctors and he'd evaded her both times. "What did she find out?"

"Nothing."

Gillian narrowed her brows, irritated that he thought she'd accept that. "Come on...I was sick. I didn't get hit on the head. This is the third time I've asked and you're stonewalling."

"The first time you asked you could barely keep your eyes open, the second time we were interrupted by a nurse who took, what was it, six vials of blood from you?"

"Four," she corrected him. "Now you're changing the subject."

Cal sighed and she saw the indecision on his face, before he came clean.

"On the second night of our quarantine I went through Karl Bennett's wallet," he told her. "I found out his real name. It's Anthony Pirelli and he works for USAMRIID."

"Wow..." Gillian was genuinely shocked. "Here I kept hoping we were way off. That the virus and the isolation on that train were making us paranoid. What about Eleanor?"

"Fake name, fake marriage. Like you suspected."

"Torres found all this out?"

"Torres got a lot of doors slammed in her face once she started poking her nose around. Then they suggested she might be risking her job and I told her to drop it."

"So we still have no proof that they actually had anything to do with the virus on that train?"

"Yes and no." Cal shrugged his shoulders. "I had a chat with Anthony Pirelli before he was whisked out of here."

"You read him," she clarified.

"Yeah."

"What did he tell you?"

"Verbally he was full of denial and indignation. But his face told me all I needed to know. "

"Which was?"

"They did cause that first outbreak, him and Eleanor, or whatever her real name was. But they had nothing to do with the second. The sheer coincidence of it shocked them even more than the rest of us. I'm convinced they were immunized against the first virus. Ironically, if Eleanor hadn't been...she might not have gotten the second."

It was his use of the past tense that stood out to her. "What do you mean...whatever her name _was_?"

"Pirelli sent me a text a few days ago, saying she passed away."

Gillian exhaled, trying to absorb it all. "Do you believe him?"

"It was a text, Gill." He reminded her flippantly. "I can't read those yet."

"Of course he'd say that," she countered. "Knowing we'd pursue them."

"For what it's worth," Cal added. "I think he was telling the truth. He gave up lying to me just before he left Winnipeg. Pirelli didn't have to contact me at all if he didn't want to, but I asked him to let me know."

She didn't want to believe it, because if it was a lie it meant she wasn't the only one to survive this. Gillian thought back to their last encounter on the train. Eleanor in her weakened state, pleading her for something for her headache. Gillian didn't want to imagine that same woman already gone from this world.

A picture of Sarah Jensen bleeding to death entered her mind again and Gillian shivered in the chill that came along with the image.

"Knowing what you know..." she said softly. "What are we going to do?"

"What do you want to do?" he answered. "It's over. Two researchers made a lot of people sick for twenty-four hours, for god knows what twisted reason. No one died. They didn't bring a VHF on that train. A nurse from Africa did."

Gillian didn't understand. "You're suggesting we just drop it? Cal...there were so many seniors on that train! It's a minor miracle that none of them had pre-existing conditions that would've added some serious complications to the flu they had. Not everyone recovered after 24-hours like you did."

"You can also argue that because of that initial flu everyone retreated to their cabins. If it wasn't for that...how much more serious would the spread of the VHF have been? Maybe we'd be looking at dozens of deaths."

"Are you trying to _justify_ their actions now?"

"Did I mention Torres got doors slammed in her face the moment she started knocking?"

Gillian didn't buy it. The Cal Lightman she knew would see that as a challenge. Motivation to try even harder and proof positive that the truth was hiding behind those slammed doors. "I didn't say Torres should risk _her_ job for this...but _we_ can't just let this go."

"Can we wait until after you've recovered before discussing this?"

Gillian eyed him. There was only one thing that could make Cal back down from something like this. "Did he threaten you?"

"Gill, this is stupid..."

"He threatened your family didn't he?" A threat to Emily or Zoe would be the _one _thing that might make him reconsider taking action. "How did he even find out about them while he was here?"

This time it was Cal who looked at her incredulously. "He didn't threaten Emily. Or Zoe."

"Then why are you...?"

"For chrissakes...what do you think? He threatened me with _your _life!" Cal cut her off, astounded that she couldn't figure it out. "Pirelli told me that he'd hate to see you pay the consequences of my recklessness." Cal looked at her and this time she couldn't read him at all. "You were already fighting for your life in the room next door. What better leverage could he have asked for?"

The guilt suddenly hit her. "You don't think the fact that I'm the only one who's recovered from this has anything to do..."

"The thought did occur to me," he admitted. "But do I believe it? Nah...if I did think they knew what this was...or had a cure for it, then Eleanor wouldn't have gotten it. I think you recovered because you're tougher than anyone else who was in that room with you." He managed a half-smile this time. "And because I wouldn't let you consider the alternative."

Gillian didn't know what to say. She'd been in the exact same boat when they first met.

Cal Lightman had been hell bent to blow the cover on a failed Pentagon-ordered hit and she'd known then that if he succeeded he might have risked the life of his wife and daughter. Against his will or knowledge, she'd done everything in her power back then to make sure he wouldn't succeed.

Had even lied him about it all, and when she finally did come clean years later, he'd embraced her, forgiven her, in spite of his anger.

"I'm sorry..." she said softly. "Sorry that he put you in that position."

"Not your fault, luv," he said softly. "Pirelli's a smart guy. He knew you were more important to me than the truth."

Gillian hated what they'd done to him. But she'd have done the same if she were in his shoes. She would've told him as much if it wasn't for the two doctors that came in for their daily prodding and questioning.

Cal eyed them both and then got up, giving her a glance that told her he knew. That she didn't have to say it. "Guess this is my cue to get lost."

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

When Cal came back, he wore a thick winter parka that had flecks of snow on its hood. He held a paper cup in one of his hands with the end of a tea bag sticking out of it.

Gillian yawned. It was still a struggle to stay awake more than a couple of hours at a time. It seemed her body had developed an insatiable appetite for sleep. Maybe if they'd just let her have an actual cup of coffee.

"You went to get a tea and didn't bring me a coffee?"

"I thought the doctors said..."

"You offered me scotch when I was in the ICU."

Cal frowned. She had a point. "You remember that? You really want one?"

The idea alone perked her up. "Coffee, yes. Scotch, no. "

He cringed. "You know it's minus twenty centigrade out there. Those are frostbite temperatures."

"You have a nice, warm coat."

"You're heartless."

Gillian rested a hand on her stomach and grimaced. "I'm in pain, Cal, and all I'm asking for is a coffee..."

He raised his hand in defeat. "Alright, alright..." He zipped up his coat again. "Now you're just milking this, you know that."

Gillian winced. "That hurts. That you'd think I would..."

"Don't even try," he mumbled under his breath, his back to her already.

Gillian grinned, knowing he couldn't see her. Then she called out after him. "Don't forget to put some sugar in it!"

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

"Comfortable?" Cal had swiped two pillows from the empty bed next to Gillian's and put them under her pillow, propping her up. Fluffing them for good measure.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes, sure. _Coffee?"_

He handed her the paper cup. "Three sugars."

Her face lit up. "Perfect."

Cal winced. "Undrinkable is what that is."

Gillian took a careful sip. It was cheap percolated coffee, bitter, in spite of the amount of sugar he put in it. Probably from sitting in its pot far longer than it should have.

Even so it tasted wonderful. Made her feel as though she was reclaiming yet another piece of her life.

She took another sip when she spotted the card lying face down on the small table next to her bed. "What's that?" she asked Cal.

His eyes widened in genuine surprise. "The bloody card...I keep forgetting to give it to you."

"Who is it from?"

"Me." He handed it to her and took the cup out of her hands. "Open it."

Gillian turned it over to read the inscription on the front. _For my partner in crime. _She eyed him sceptically. "You got me a get-well card?" Since when did Cal Lightman write cards?

There was an unexpected nervousness about him. "It's not really the card...it's a gift...no, not a gift, a proposition. It needed an envelope to go with it." He stumbled, at a rare loss for words. "The card...it came with the envelope. Oh bloody hell...just open it."

Gillian opened the envelope to find a get-well card inside. Filled with the kind of greeting card sentiments she'd never have expected from Cal Lightman.

"They didn't have many choices in the gift shop," Cal explained, reading her confused expression.

There was something inside the card that nearly fell into her lap, before she caught it in her hand.

It was a business card.

On the upper-left hand side was an elegant logo. The letters F and L, intertwined in a pattern that she liked right away and next to them a company name: _Foster & Lightman Investigations._ With her own name inscribed underneath them both. _Dr. Gillian Foster _

It was only then that she noticed Cal's handwriting in the card. One simple line.

_I want to give it another try and there's no one else I'd rather do it with. _

Gillian swallowed, needing a moment to digest what it all implied. She ran her index finger over the raised logo. It was a beautifully designed card and she suddenly wondered whether Emily had a hand in it.

"You... want us to build another company together?" she asked, finally turning her head in his direction, needing to see his reaction.

"Yeah...I'd like that." He was serious. Sincere. Apprehensive even. Gillian didn't know what to do with it.

"And..." It was this part that she still couldn't quite fathom. "You want to put my name on the door?"

"Yeah."

"_Before_ yours?"

"Well, that's for alphabetical reasons," he said, amused. "F before L, and such."

"I'm not the one who wrote a book. Who has the reputation."

"Don't sell yourself short, luv," he chided her. "I wrote a good book and a crap book. You wrote no book. Makes us about even."

"Right..." Gillian exhaled, when something else suddenly occurred to her. She wondered whether it was the notion that she might not survive the virus that made him come up with this. Whether Cal was regretting it now and if that was the apprehension she was seeing in his face.

"The last few months at the Lightman Group were terrible," he conceded, unable to meet her eyes just then. "Can't lie and say I'm a new man. I'm not. But I am capable of learning from my mistakes..." He rubbed his stubble with his hand. "But if you're not up for it...I understand."

Gillian bit her lip. Was he giving her an easy out? _Or himself?_

"I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to give me an answer now, luv," he told her. "It's a big ask. Get well first. Get out of this hospital. Then think about it, before making a decision."

Gillian nodded, weighing her words. "You're probably right...I need to think about it."

He made an effort to hide his disappointment, failing miserably. It made her realize that the apprehension she saw on his face had nothing to do with regretting his proposition.

Cal handed her back the cup of coffee, somehow mustering a smile. Letting her know it was okay.

"Cal...I..."

A young, bubbly nurse entered the room, interrupting her train of thought. Gillian wouldn't have minded her so much if it didn't seem like every time she came to see her it involved needles and drawing blood and swallowing pills.

The nurse gave her a smile. Reading her mind. "I know what you're thinking...but it's not that. Not here to stick anything in you. But I have good news...and I had a feeling you'd want to be one of the first to know, Gillian." Then young woman was clearly excited. "Brandon's fever broke an hour ago. He's started to fight back against the virus. Like you did."

Gillian felt Cal's hand on her arm, his smile genuine, even proud this time.

"Now _that_, is fantastic news."


	22. Epilogue

A/N: Giant thanks to those who read this story, favourited it and especially those who took the time to let me know what you think. Always hugely appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Special shout out to my friend, GDA. I have two words for you: You rock. (well, that and "Moose!")

*lyrics are from Cat Stevens 'Peace Train' (what else?)

**Aria is a made-up DC restaurant, but the menu items are stolen from a real one. Grazie, Posto

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

_Now I've been happy lately _

_Thinking about the good things to come _

_And I believe it could be_

_Something good has begun* _

* * *

><p><em>Lincoln Monument, Washington DC, USA <em>

_Six weeks later _

Gillian Foster walked along the Reflecting Pool soaking in the sight of the giant Memorial ahead of her. Its Doric columns were illuminated by the last rays of sunlight and for an instant she envisioned a Greek temple near the shores of the Aegean Sea, guiding ancient sailors home. Such was its magnetism and its pull.

For her, anyway.

No matter how many times she'd come here since moving to DC years ago, she'd never tire of seeing the temple that housed Abraham Lincoln. It reminded her that no matter how many problems threatened to engulf her country, she was still proud to be a part of it.

She used to come here in the early morning hours. Sometimes alone, with a cup of hot coffee in her hand. And sometimes with Alec who'd jog around the pool while she savoured the first signs of daylight at a slower pace, before the crowds came to steal their solitude.

There was a cup of coffee in her hand now too. It was sweet and frothy, just the way she liked it. Coffee and sugar were two things she'd never been able to resist. Most of the time she didn't bother trying. As far as vices went she figured she could have done a lot worse.

Besides, it wasn't every day she'd come from her doctor's office with a clean bill of health after a bout with an illness that killed more than half the people it struck. It was the kind of news that merited a five-dollar caffeinated beverage from an overpriced chain.

Her cell phone beeped, taking her eyes away from the stunning view.

It was a text from Cal.

-How'd it go?

She smirked. They'd reversed roles the last couple of weeks. He'd done the kind of mothering that used to drive him crazy. Coming over to her house and making dinner. Making sure she didn't do anything more taxing than read a book or walk from her bedroom to the living room.

Cal even lost it one evening when she'd gone out for a walk. Reminded her it was still winter and that she was pushing her luck. Had thrown two blankets over her when she got back and made her drink some bitter Nepalese tea after rambling on about its healing properties.

_"Since when are you my mother?" she shot back, thoroughly annoyed at this point. _

_He didn't even crack a smile in return. "Since I almost watched you die."_

_She stopped whining then and drank the rest of his bitter tea. _

She still hadn't completely shaken the after-effects of the virus. Still tired too easily and her body still protested when she tried to do too much.

But she fought through it and every day it got a little easier. Best of all, the rashes and the bruises went away, like the doctors promised, and she could look into a mirror without cringing now.

Tonight it didn't even feel like winter outside anymore.

It was so mild outside that she wore only a trench coat over her dress. And she could have sworn she saw flowers blooming on her way here. It felt like Spring.

Gillian set down her coffee and texted him back.

-Good. Going to live

-Pretty good news. How 'bout dinner to celebrate?

She smiled.

-Sure

-Where are you?

-Lincoln Monument

-Sightseeing tour?

Gillian laughed.

-Yes. On a red double-decker bus

-I'm not far from you. Meet you there in twenty minutes? Lower steps of giant temple thing?

-Ok

_Later_

It was already dark when she spotted him walking towards her.

Gillian gave him a kiss on the cheek when he was close enough. Cal was slightly shorter than her when she wore heels, like she did now. It didn't bother him in the least.

Cal couldn't care less about image and it was one of the things she liked most about him.

"Bloody traffic," he mumbled.

"Excuses."

He grinned, checking her out. "You look good."

"Thanks. I feel good."

"So how about that pretentious Italian place you always go on about?"

"Aria?"

"Yeah...that one."

"Sure. I'm buying."

"How could I forget ? Let me think of a pricier option then..."

Gillian elbowed him in the ribs as they walked alongside the reflecting pool, next to the lights of the city.

It all felt warm and familiar and good.

* * *

><p><em>Later <em>

Cal Lightman spotted the hostess' distain with one uppity glance in his direction. It might have had something to do with his jeans. Or his wrinkled jacket.

"I'm sorry. We are _completely_ full tonight and you don't have a reservation, correct?"

"That's right," Gillian answered for him. "We don't. It was last minute idea." She turned to Cal. "It's okay...we'll pick another place."

Cal ignored her, peeking his head into the dining room. "What about that table? Or those two over there?"

"Sir, they're booked."

He pointed to another one, further away. "Then how about that one?"

The hostess' lips tightened. "Sir..."

Cal sighed. Annoyed now. "Sweetheart, stop lying. I know there's room and I know the reason you're telling me there's not is because I don't look like those monkeys sitting in there with their designer ties and doe-eyed dates." He was indifferent to her shocked expression. "And frankly I could care less about your overpriced wine list and designer meals but..." He pointed to Gillian and then paused. "My friend here, she was on this train, the Ebola Train, have you heard of it?"

The trendy young woman looked aghast now.

"It's a simple question, luv," he pressed her. "_Have you heard of it_?"

The hostess nodded. "Yes..."

"Anyway, my friend here, she was on that train with me and got the virus. Not the first one that everyone walked away from...the second one, the one that killed almost everyone that got it."

The hostess stared at Gillian now, who returned her stare with an embarrassed smile.

"So my friend here, gets this virus, spends more than a week fighting it. Somehow manages to beat all the odds in the world and decides that to celebrate, she wants to have dinner here. Because she likes this mushy Italian dessert that apparently no one else makes as well as you do..." He turned to Gillian. "What's it called again?"

"Tiramisu."

"Right. Tiramisu." He walked right up to the hostess, getting into her personal space. "It's really absurd to think that after everything she's been through, you're now going to turn her away because I don't look like the rest of the lemmings here."

The young woman haughtily picked up two menus, staring at Gillian in the process. "Why don't you follow me? I might be able to find you something after all."

She sat them down at a corner table and Gillian waited until she left before glaring at Cal. "Really? Was that necessary?"

"What?" he gave her an innocent look.

"You can't just...make a reservation like a normal person?"

Amusement lined his face. "Where's the fun in that?" He waved a hand around the dining room. "Then we might not sit at the pariah table. We'd be in the middle of the room, too busy trying to read all the liars surrounding us that we'd have a hard time concentrating on our expensive meal and each other."

Gillian chuckled. It was so damn hard to be angry with him sometimes. "You're impossible."

They ordered. _Midollo_. Oven roasted bone marrow with parsley pesto and black olive bread. _Paglia e fieno_. Egg spinach papardelle with veal ragout and fresh herbs._ Manzo_. Angus ribeye steak with baked stuffed potato and red wine sauce.

"Should I be eating this or hanging it on a Christmas tree?" he asked her when a delicate _amuse-_ _bouche_ arrived at their table between courses.

"You should admit that it's one of the best meals you've ever had, that's what you should do."

Cal grinned. "Admit you're right? Never."

He poured her some more Chianti when the tiramisu arrived.

Gillian dug her fork into it with delight. She hadn't been here for a long time. It had taken a while for her to get her appetite back, for the constant nausea to go away.

Coming this far made every bite tonight taste even better.

A waiter came by and lit a candle on their table.

"You know, you never answered my question," Cal said softly.

Gillian took a sip of her wine. "Which question?"

"The important one."

Gillian put down her fork, her eyes meeting his as her thoughts went back to that hospital room in Canada. The beautiful business card. The offer to try again. To build another business. "About us starting another company together..."

"That too," he cut her off. "But first I want to know why you disappeared for two years without a word."

Gillian shifted her gaze away from his. Part of her hoped that he wouldn't ask. Ever again. Even if he did deserve to know. She debated evading the question once more but then decided against it.

"Because..." she searched for the right words, as she often did when it really mattered. "I wanted to prove Alec wrong."

He looked at her, not understanding.

"When he was dying," she explained. "He told me I'd run off to cry on your shoulders as soon as he was gone. As I'd always done." She paused. "Even though we weren't married anymore. His accusations hurt, Cal. They touched a nerve because they were true. Then at the very end...he asked me not to go back to you this time. It was..." Gillian bit her lip. "It was the very last thing he asked of me."

She saw anger on Cal's face. The contempt for Alec was written all over it.

"Don't. Please," she told him before he had a chance to say anything. "Don't judge him."

"I knew it. Selfish wanker..."

"Cal...stop it."

She saw him struggling to bite his tongue. God knows that took a monumental effort where Cal Lightman was concerned. "I know you think I did what I did out of some crazy, misguided loyalty...but he was my husband, Cal. I loved him. Even though in the end it was a mess...we had some really good times together. I wouldn't have been with him as long as I was if we didn't." Gillian watched as he drank some of his wine. "But I am sorry for what it did to our friendship."

Cal nodded, finally agreeing with her. "Yeah, me too."

Guilt suddenly gnawed at her again. And again she couldn't quite meet his eyes. Didn't want to read what she expected to see in them. Disappointment.

"Hey...it doesn't matter now." Instead of disappointment, she saw understanding on his face. "I'm sorry for a lot of what I did to our friendship too."

Gillian nodded, accepting the apology.

"It's why I get it if your answer is no."

"What?"

"The last few months at the Lightman Group were awful. They were enough to make anyone throw in the towel and run to the other ends of the earth. "

Gillian took another bite of the tiramisu, relishing it. It really was the best in the city. "What are you talking about?"

"I get that running a business with me is asking a lot. I understand if you're not up for it..."

"Cal..."

Once he started rambling he was hard to stop.

"But even if I can't have _that_...I'd like to have _this,_" he said, gesturing over their table.

"Dinner at Aria?"

"Well, as long as you're paying..." Cal shrugged with a chuckle. "What I'm trying to say is that I want you back in my life, Gill. To know that I can call you and pick your brains and check to see how your day went. To know I've got someone to set me straight when Emily's dating life gives me fits. To have dinner and drinks once in a while and...and watch your face light up when you have some mushy Italian dessert."

"So you _don't _want me to work with you?"

"No...no, that's not what I meant."

Gillian held back her amusement. It was fun seeing him flustered because it happened so rarely. She relished it almost as much as the tiramisu. Was it really possible that he ever doubted what her answer would be?

She reached down into her purse and pulled out her wallet, handing Cal the business card he'd made her.

"I don't know about you, but I'm working on starting a new business. "

Cal's face was one massive grin now. "Posh card."

"Isn't it?"

"_Foster & Lightman Investigations_? As in Cal Lightman?"

"That's the one. Heard of him?"

"I heard he's crazy," he told her. "I mean, off-the-wall, completely bonkers mad."

"He is," Gillian agreed wholeheartedly. "But it's okay. I can handle his brand of crazy."

"You're sure?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded. "He's crazy, obnoxious, impossible... but he's also brilliant and passionate. And if you're lucky enough to have him care about you, believe me, there's no one else you'd rather have on your side in a fight than Cal Lightman."

"Is that so?"

She always threw him for a loop when she told him what she really felt. It was one of the drawbacks of seeing as much as they were able to without a single word. Because when they did dare to voice their thoughts aloud, neither of them knew what to do with it.

"Yeah..."

"Well, in that case," Cal raised his glass of wine to toast it with hers. "I propose a toast. To getting back into the fight. To doing it even better this time."

"To new beginnings," Gillian added, smiling, as her blue eyes locked with his across the candlelit table.

**The End**


End file.
